visitors

It seems I have some unwelcome visitors in the pumpkin patch.  And they're hungry.  Very hungry.

they're alive . . . aliiiive!

Despite a ridiculous amount of rain (or maybe because of it) several pumpkin plants have emerged and are looking quite sturdy.

Fingers are crossed for a successful year.

visions of vertical pumpkins

Today is the day. The day on which I embark upon my third consecutive year of pumpkin gardening. Admittedly, June 5th is a late start. But it's been a late spring. A cold spring. And I wanted to be sure the threat of frost had truly passed. I take no chances with my pumpkin seeds.

Anyone familiar with the often tragic tale of my pumpkin-growing adventures will recall that the first year was an unmitigated failure. With lovely flowers, but no lovely pumpkins. Zero pumpkins.

Then, last year, in a determined effort to learn from my mistakes, I moved the location of my pumpkin crop from the back yard to the front yard. Where it would have the benefit of more sunshine. And the benefit of an exceptionally warm and sunny summer. The result was seven pumpkins. Seven small pumpkins. But seven pumpkins, nonetheless.

The only drawback to growing pumpkins in the front yard was the way in which those pesky vines tended to grasp anything in their path and not let go. Including the grass on my lawn. I knew that pumpkin vines would spread, but I was taken aback at just how tenaciously they held on to the surrounding vegetation. I had envisioned simply lifting the plants and mowing the grass around them. But no. My pumpkin vines wouldn't hear of it. So the lawn remained unmowed for a few months. I began to develop a reputation in the neighbourhood.

This year, I am employing a third strategy. Hoping for at least the moderate success of last year's crop and a vine-free front lawn, I will be attempting to grow pumpkins vertically. Using my veranda as a support. I am optimistic. I have visions of thick, healthy plants and huge orange gourds gracing my front porch throughout the summer and into the fall. But while I've been assured that vertical pumpkin-growing is indeed possible, I worry that the pumpkins might grow too large and heavy and simply snap off before maturity.

Then again, if the sizes of last year's pumpkins are a reliable predictor of this year's success, I likely have nothing to worry about.

pumpkin planning

So I'm walking through the department store en route to the cat food, and while passing the newly stocked garden department, I can't fail to notice a large rack of seed packets. Then, while perusing said seed packets, my eyes fall upon a particularly large one.

With a name like "E Z Gro Monster", how can I resist?

I'm in the midst of contemplating a new location for my pumpkin patch this year. It will have to remain in the front of the house. This seems to be the only part of my yard that receives enough sunlight. But I'm hesitant about repeating last year's experiment and planting pumpkins in the front yard. The grasping vines made mowing the grass all but impossible by mid-summer. And while that provided a nice, atmospheric effect in October, it wasn't quite so attractive in July and August.

So this year, the pumpkin patch will remain in front, but closer to the house. I think I'll make another attempt at growing pumpkins vertically. This time with better support. The veranda railings might work nicely . . .

sinking fast

Halloween was followed by nearly a solid week and rain and wind. My intrepid little pumpkins survived, thanks to the shelter of the front porch and the shrubs. And a few blown leaves. Nevertheless, it's clear to me that they are reaching the end of their lives. But I can't bear to say good-bye to them just yet.

. . . and then there were six

(Can of pureed pumpkin for sizing purposes only. Not intended for intimidation of surrounding pumpkins.)

The final harvest has taken place and in the end I find myself with a grand total of six pumpkins. Instead of my earlier, more optimistic prediction of eight.

One pumpkin tragically rotted on the vine. Just when it seemed to be doing so well and on its way to becoming the largest of the crop. I blame insects. Or perhaps sabotage by the second largest pumpkin.

I coped with the loss and resigned myself to seven pumpkins. And then the six year-old across the street offered me a dollar for one of them. How could I refuse? And no, I didn't take the dollar.

So now there are six. And considering that last year, there were none, I'm calling this a successful season.

last days of the pumpkin patch

If these dry leaves and withered vines are any indication, the time to harvest the remaining pumpkins is quickly approaching.

first harvest

With days and nights getting cooler and bins of clearly superior pumpkins appearing all over town, I find myself forced to acknowledge that my pumpkins will likely not be growing any larger. They remain small, but sincere. And my prize pumpkin, the first to make its appearance back in those heady days of mid-summer, has turned a bright shade of orange. The time has come. Time for the first pumpkin harvest of 2010. The first pumpkin to leave the patch. The first pumpkin to sit on the veranda, to watch the falling leaves, to feel the increasingly frosty temperatures and wait for its time to shine.

The first pumpkin of 2010 never grew much larger than a cantaloupe. But no matter. It's large enough to carve. And certainly an improvement over last year's crop yield of zero pumpkins. And there are more. I've counted seven more pumpkins, at varying stages of maturity. Equally small. But equally carve-able. If they all survive, they'll form a happy little group come Halloween. A small but sincere little group.

If the cat doesn't get them first.

goodbye Earl

Earl has come and gone. And while I feared for the lives of my pumpkins at more than one point, they seem to have been spared an early death. Although I can't say the same for many of the leaves and vines.

prize pumpkin

It was going to be my "prize pumpkin". The first to emerge in mid-summer, it grew rapidly. I was ecstatic. I was certain that, come September, it would be massive. Perhaps a record-breaker. Competition for Howard Dill's giants. I checked its progress daily. But then, it suddenly stopped. And it never started again. Never growing much beyond six inches. Never reaching its full pumpkin potential. I was dismayed. My dreams were shattered.

But now, as its green skin gives way to orange, I've come to terms with its small stature. Embraced it, even. It still holds a special place in my heart. And as long as the various neighbourhood pests don't destroy it, it will remain my prize pumpkin.

scrutiny

I'm sure my neighbours must think I'm insane. Every morning now, after breakfast and coffee, I rush out into my front yard to check on my pumpkin plants. Is the one promising pumpkin still there? Is it still thriving? Have any others emerged? Are they growing or have they died on the vine, tiny and yellow and sad and shriveled? Do they seem to need more water? Less water? More nurturing? Less nurturing?

In recent days, I've been rewarded by the appearance of several new pumpkins. Five at last count. The largest new addition, despite its impressive appearance in the photograph, is the size of a large egg. I've been trying to remain calm, however. Nonchalant. Recalling the earlier excitement I felt at the sight of multiple pumpkins, only to have that excitement, like those poor pumpkins themselves, wither and die on the vine. I tell myself that I will be content if only my one prized pumpkin, first and largest of the crop so far, survives into autumn.

But if I go out there one morning, and find it no longer among the living, I fear I may collapse into a weeping heap on my lawn. And then my neighbours will be absolutely certain of my insanity.

you take the good, you take the bad . . .

I returned from a brief holiday and immediately dashed to the front yard to check on my pumpkin. Happily, it's still thriving. But another fledgling gourd wasn't quite so lucky. I found it lying dry and shriveled in the dirt. It's life over before it had truly begun.




On a more encouraging note, another of my pumpkin plants underwent a growth spurt in my absence. It's rapidly moving into perennial territory and appears to have a fierce stranglehold on one of the bee balm stems.

And . . . I do believe another pumpkin is beginning to grow!

one

I have a pumpkin!

Only one pumpkin. But that's okay. It's a dramatic improvement over last year's crop. And in accordance with the pumpkin patch sub-section of Murphy's Law, it's growing on the plant closest to the driveway. Which means it now must be protected from pesky neighbourhood children and from my daughter's lacklustre parking skills.

blossoming

Despite an early casualty, these are heady days in the pumpkin patch. Flowers have begun to appear, filling my heart with hope for an actual pumpkin this year. I'd be happy with just one. Really. I'm easily pleased.

My husband has finally recognized the pumpkin plants growing merrily in the front yard, and despite his earlier objections, hasn't complained. Maybe it's the heat. Or maybe it's the sight of those vivid green leaves contrasted against big yellow flowers. After all, who could fail to love a sincere pumpkin patch.

O Great Pumpkin, please don't fail me now.

first casualty

It was a depressing morning in the pumpkin patch. It seems one of my pumpkin plants - only one - has been completely devoured over the course of the past several nights. It began with a few holes chewed through the leaves. Similar to some of the others. But then this morning, I discovered most of the leaves on this plant had been eaten away entirely. Only the naked stems remain. The other dozen or so plants are fine.

Odd.

emergence

After the stifling heat. After the torrential rain and thunderstorms. The pumpkin plants emerge. All of my fingers are crossed.

all they have to do is grow

The pumpkin seeds are in the ground. Three different varieties (including the Frog Queen's Magic Seeds). Three different locations. Healthy soil. As much sunshine as Nova Scotia can provide. Positive thoughts. Hopes and dreams.

This can't possibly fail.

it's almost time

With the Victoria Day weekend upon us, my thoughts turn to vegetable planting. And more specifically, to pumpkin planting. Although I am tempted to try planting basil again if only to see how many consecutive times I can fail. But I digress. Pumpkin planting time is almost upon us. Last year, I had started some seeds indoors by now. But we know how well that turned out. So this year, they're going directly into the soil outdoors. Soon. I've discovered that the professional growers plant on June 1st. It can't hurt to follow their lead.

In an effort to learn from last year's pumpkin crop disaster, I intend to alter my strategy this season. The majority of last year's pumpkin plants were located behind the house. An area that receives significant sunshine. But obviously not enough. Or at least that's what I have chosen to identify as the problem. The front of my house, on the other hand, receives constant, non-stop, blistering sun from morning until evening. I think the pumpkins might be happier there.

So I was thinking aloud and contemplating where in the front yard I might plant some pumpkins when I encountered an obstacle. A 5' 10", 46 year-old obstacle. My husband is horrified at the thought of growing pumpkins in the front yard. Even just a few strategically placed pumpkin plants. Absolutely not, he says. It will look horrible, he says. Yes, definitely an obstacle. But not an insurmountable one.

If there's one thing I've noticed in over 20 years with this person, it's his short attention span. He objects. He complains. He obsesses. And then he moves on. He forgets. I am confident that by June 1st, he will have completely forgotten our conversation about the pumpkin plants. And then I can quietly slip a few seeds into the front yard garden beds.

I'm hopeful that by the time he realizes there are pumpkins growing in the front yard, he will be overcome with admiration for my burgeoning pumpkin crop. And if this year's crop, like last year's, is less-than-stellar, we can pull up the failed plants together and drive to the nearest pumpkin farm.

laid to rest

It seemed appropriate in the wake of the failure of my pumpkin crop that the last few dead remnants of the vines should be given some sort of a tribute on Halloween night. After all, had events transpired differently, their spawn would have been there, rejoicing in the blustery chill of the evening. Alas, it was not to be. Instead, limp yellow rotting vines greeted the night. Interspersed with the sedum and hydrangea flowers at the base of the tombstones. A fitting farewell.



Of course, when I attempted to feature the vines more prominently in the photographs, the wind had intensified and repeatedly extinguished the candles at the tombstones' base. Why am I not surprised? Anything else would have made the pumpkin growing experiment less than a total failure.

pumpkins' (lack of) progress

It's official. I have a black thumb.

I suspected as much when I was unsuccessful in my attempts to grow carrots. And cucumbers. And basil. Easy crops, by all accounts.

But, ignoring my past failures, I eagerly forged ahead with my plans to grow my very own pumpkins this year. And for much of the season, I had reason to be optimistic. I varied my methods, starting some indoors and some outdoors. Some behind the house and some beside it. Some horizontally and some vertically. And many of the seeds germinated. Those were exciting days in the pumpkin patch.


They grew quickly at first. Dare I say thrived.


Big, bright, orange flowers appeared. Vines began to stretch and climb and attach themselves to anything in their path.

And then, it all seemed to stop. Plant growth slowed to a barely noticeable pace. Flowers still appeared. But they were never followed by the anxiously anticipated pumpkins. None. Not one.

Where had it all gone wrong? Not enough sun? Not enough water? Too much water? In an effort to identify the problem, I began to read up on pumpkin plants. I learned some amazing things. Like how to distinguish male flowers from female flowers. A quick inspection revealed that all the flowers currently on my plants were male. None sat on the little "thrones" that would eventually grow into pumpkins. Was that even possible?

Then I began seeing photos of the rapidly-growing pumpkins of other, more successful gardeners. Hearing tales of pumpkins simply growing randomly from last fall's dropped seeds. Accidentally. With little or no effort required. My sadness was complete.

So it appears that I'll once again be purchasing my pumpkins. But in the words of the ever-optimistic Linus Van Pelt: "Just wait until next year!" A new strategy is already being plotted.



I suppose I should be thankful I don't live in an era in which people relied on their own crops for survival. The law of natural selection would have disposed of me years ago.