I grew this tiny pumpkin. Of course it was supposed to be a big pumpkin, but so what else is new? I decided to carve it, just for practice.
Here’s the scene. I’m in the kitchen, with Max. Max is just dogging around like he does, cleaning the floor, eating crumbs, waiting for me to drop a bit of cheese or something. But I’m busily carving the tiny pumpkin.
I made a tiny mess with the seeds from this pumpkin, and the spoon, and the knife. So I was washing up, and the tiny pumpkin was just on the table behind me.
Then it said, in an itty bitty pumpkin voice, “Thanks!”
And that little smile made me feel a lot better about growing vegetables, in general.
(I thought you should know.)
In other news:
The rain is raining all around
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea,
And out where I am gardening,
It falls all over me.
Oh dear, I do apologize to the ghost of Robert Louis Stevenson for my uncontrollable need to add those last two lines to his beautiful poem, “Rain”. But now you know my weather. And Mr. Stevenson knows my degree of frailty. “Frailty, thy name is gardener.” Hamlet. Sort of. Oh see how the rain is making me crazy? There is so much I want to do outside, and instead I’m stuck in the house with a cheese-addicted terrier and a talking tiny pumpkin. (What did I do to deserve it?)
This is a gardening blog sometimes so here’s a picture.
It’s called Aster lateriflorus “Prince.” It has little starry flowers all bundled up together, very sweet and blooming now. Its lower leaves are dead and brown so I didn’t photograph that part. (Surely you understand). It is on the list for moving, to more sun and better watering.
Honestly I wish I could just pick up all the gardens and shake them together in a paper bag, like when you toss fresh homemade donuts in sugar, and then they would all get mixed up and come out different. But that might be irrational…
Yesterday we worked outside, in the soggy dirt with mist falling now and then. (Max had a bath afterward so he didn’t have to spend the night outside.)
I moved two sword ferns, a camellia, columbines, an echinacea, a climbing rose, and a lady fern and composted a lavatera. Still waiting for transfer are a rhododendron, more sword ferns, an enormous hosta, another rose, and almost everything in a certain overgrown bed by the fence.
I calculate that if I had about ten crews of two gardeners each I might get all this done before the irreversibly hopeless rains of winter arrive…