Thirteen years ago, Mary Grams lost something precious—not her marbles, not her patience—but her diamond engagement ring. While tending to her beloved garden, she felt it slip from her finger as she pulled a stubborn weed with the fury of a woman who just saw aphids on her roses. She searched high and low, even bribed the neighbor’s dog with a steak to sniff it out. Nothing.
With a heavy heart (and a very clean garden), she eventually gave up hope. She bought a cheap replacement ring and told no one. Well, except her husband—but only because he noticed it looked like it came out of a cereal box.
Fast forward thirteen years. Mary’s daughter-in-law was casually digging up carrots for dinner—because nothing says “I love my family” like homemade roasted root vegetables—when she pulled up something… odd.
Out came a carrot wearing a ring. Not just any carrot, but one shaped like it was doing a little vegetable bear hug. And not just any ring, but THE ring.
There it was, tightly clenched in the grasp of two fused carrot halves like it had just proposed.
“My God, the carrot’s engaged,” she probably muttered in disbelief. The carrot, meanwhile, said nothing—because it was a carrot. But if it could talk, it would have said, “I’ve been holding onto this thing tighter than your Aunt Edna clutches her bingo cards.”
When Mary saw it, her jaw dropped. “That’s my ring!” she gasped, staring at the dirt-covered diamond like it was the Holy Grail of horticulture. Turns out, the ring had slipped off and nature had slowly, sneakily wrapped it in planty affection.
Scientists call it “natural encasement through growth.” Mary calls it, “a miracle with side salad potential.”
And so, the ring was returned. The carrot was not eaten. Instead, it was immortalized in family lore as the carrot that held a vow for 13 years—and never let go.
Moral of the story? True love always finds a way… even if it has to grow around a carrot to do it. 🥕💍
