It’s going to be a bumper Halloween here in the Armstong household. For those of you unfamiliar with my pumpkin dilemmas, see My Growing Pumpkin Concern for the full saga of my experiences growing pumpkins for the first time.
As you can see from the picture the results turned out just fine. It was actually quite a thrilling process, about as thrilling as vegetables can be, because pumpkin growth is pretty dramatic. These babies grow from seed to triffid in a few short weeks and they’re no respecters of garden boundaries, as my neighbors will testify.
To watch pumpkins grow is to study all of nature in a microscosm, albeit an XL-sized microcosm. They have a short little lifespan that belies their mammoth proportions, but in that lifespan you will see an array of grand design functions in action. And this may be one of my more controversial theories, but I think pumpkins are smart.
By way of evidence for such a sweeping and frankly silly statement I present the following:
- Exhibit A: Pumpkin plants don’t like to be watered directly, preferring to stretch their roots out to find water and thereby extending those roots. In order to protect themselves from rain and divert water to the area surrounding the plant they send up large, parasol-style leaves to act as umbrellas, not only around the plant base but also above each individual fruit.
- Exhibit B: As a large, trailing plant with heavy vegetables attached, pumpkins realize they’re going to need support to stop everything thrashing around and possibly breaking the connection to the fruits in the event of a storm. So they send out secondary shoots along the trail whose only function is to wind themselves around anything handy - in my case, railings, other plants and the occasional chicken – and provide the utmost stability. Try moving a pumpkin trail mid-season and you’ll see it’s not so easy.
- Exhibit C: Pumpkins have the most humungous flowers I’ve ever seen, attracting bees from as far away as Jupiter and ensuring their pollination.
- Exhibit D: The plants realize there’s so much eating in the individual fruits, they ought to do something to prevent all that food going to waste. So they gave them a mild, vaguely sweet flavor that made them versatile enough to use in both savory and sweet dishes. (Nothing does go to waste in the Armstrong kitchen, even the seeds. Some of these are retained for next year’s crop, the remainder are seasoned up and baked for a tasty snack. Smart pumpkin. Knew I liked snacks.)
In the wild, left to their own devices, unclaimed pumpkins would degenerate into a compost leaving only the seeds behind. Then the whole cycle of life begins again. I think that’s pretty smart, don’t you? Happy Halloween.
- George
It’s a mere two weeks since I last wrote about my pumpkin fears (
You must admit, it’s not every day that someone comes to you with a pumpkin dilemma. But that’s what I’m doing here. You see, I planted these babies from seed a couple of months back and didn’t really know what to expect. I started them out in a little seed tray and watched them develop on my window sill. Within a week, they’d outgrown the seed tray. I just figured it was because daddy was here to look after them and patted myself on the back for being an excellent parent.
Not only that, but as each plant has roughly four pumpkins, I’m going to have to figure out what the hell to do with sixteen pumpkins at Halloween. I mean they’re going to be huge, you can’t just stick sixteen pumpkins under the sink. I’m going to have to build an extension onto the house.