Myrtleberry, sask. (pop. 348), was a small town that wanted what all small towns want — publicity. It yearned to be recognized or at least noted. It longed for fame but would gladly have settled for notoriety.

Instead it languished, unwept, unhonoured and unsung.

For years the Myrtleberry chamber of commerce fought to come up with an idea that would gain glory for the town, but nothing came of their deliberations. Nothing, that is, until someone said those two magic words: “Martha Stewart.” Not that the diva of decorating had even the remotest connection to the town, but look what her name alone had done just this fall for Nova Scotia.

Specifically, with the publicity generated for Windsor, N.S., when she was invited to its pumpkin festival to paddle a giant, hollowed-out pumpkin across Lake Pesaquid. (Alas, she was a no-show — but that made the story even better.) It’s fair to say that the Myrtleberry Chamber of Commerce was transfixed by the tale and green with envy at all the media attention. And while they turned green, they also called a meeting and vegetables were the only item on the agenda. If they could come up with an interesting vegetable, a festival of sorts and a kooky race, their fame was assured.

“Well,” said Rafe Lockstep, who farms two sections on the edge of town, “we have wheat. We could make flour and buns and then have the world’s largest bun fight. That would get their attention. Maybe get Cy Young to throw out the first bun.”

This looked good until someone noted that Cy Young was dead and what if it rained and the buns got soggy. Then Zeke Beardwhistle said the magic word: zucchinis. Frankly, it didn’t sound much like a magic word at the time, but Zeke had done his research.

“Everyone knows and grows zucchinis,” he said. “And after we’ve fried a few and pickled a few, we have lots left over.”

“So you suggest a giant zucchini festival?” someone asked.

“Nope,” said Zeke, “it’s a better idea than that. A winter zucchini festival.”

Groans rose from around the table, for winter in Myrtleberry is serious business: the temperature drops to minus 40 and usually stays there until Easter, save for the odd January thaw.

“Winter is perfect,” Zeke went on. “ We harvest zucchinis in summer, fat ones about a foot long. When winter comes, we haul them out of the root cellar, hollow them out, saving the mush, and cut a sharp ridge along the bottom. Then we freeze them rock-solid.”

He stopped and smiled. His fellow members of the chamber sat in a stunned silence. They were unclear on the concept. Some even doubted that it was a concept.

But Zeke had a vision. “Zucchini skates,” he said. “We’ll have zucchini races along the Last Chance River and the world press will beat a path to our door.. And we’ll invite a world-famous hockey player or speed skater. Maybe Gordie Howe or…” And words failed him.

Then someone asked how you could keep frozen zucchinis on your feet.

Once again Zeke had the answer. “All the contestants get thick socks. They slip on their zucchinis and we pour in melted zucchini mush, which will set their feet solid. Given our winters, that should happen in about five seconds. Then we are away to the races. Probably a mile at the most, for we don’t know how long a zucchini will hold an edge. But even if the contestants start to slip and slide, think of the coverage — shapely legs waving bright green zucchinis against the winter sky. It can’t miss.”

And, to a man, the chamber grasped the idea to their bosoms. Save for Zack Beardwhistle, a rancher who had his heart set on a snowshoe race on frozen, giant T-bone steaks which would be tenderized by the races and could make a tasty barbecues. But that raised the spectre of mad-cow disease, so zucchinis won the day. The chamber ground into action.

And, indeed, they began to get media coverage, for a zucchini skate race had a certain charm.

In mid-January, the day of the great race dawned and media hordes (or some of them) turned out on the banks of the Last Chance River. Jean Beliveau and Wayne Gretzky were not able to make it, and Martha Stewart couldn’t skate. But Mad Dog Magory, who led the local league in penalty minutes, was only too eager to slip his feet into size 14 zucchinis.

@page_break@It might just have been a triumph. Except that while the day dawned crisp and cold, one of those rare January thaws rolled in. And by race time, the Last Chance was large puddle. As the first event went off, the zucchinis began to work loose. One could call it a fiasco, but it certainly got a lot of coverage. Then, luckily — or so it seemed — the cold returned (for thaws are short in Myrtleberry) and the second race got under way with firm zucchinis.

Alas, the puddles on the Last Chance were freezing fast. And by the time the racers were halfway along, the edge was gone from their zucchinis and one by one they were trapped upright. Feet frozen in zucchinis. Zucchinis frozen to the ice. They had to be chopped loose and dragged to the hospital, where hollow zucchinis began to pile up in the corridors.

Yes, the citizens of Myrtleberry got their publicity — although perhaps it was not all they had hoped for.

Next year, it looks like they might try the giant T-bone steak snowshoe race. IE