I have never aspired to have a garden. I can keep the flowers in my yard alive, but that’s as close to gardening as I’ve ever done.
On a whim last winter, I picked up two pumpkin seeds outside the fence at my neighbor’s house who lives down the alley from me. They’d had a successful pumpkin season last year. One little pumpkin had grown outside the fence into the alley and more or less lived and died there.
In late May, I planted my two seeds about five feet apart.
They sprouted. One of my cats, Olive, squeezed her skinny little self under the protective covering on one of the sprouts and broke it off. I was not a happy camper. Regardless, the one pumpkin seed grew…
Long before now, I had apologized to Olive for killing a sprout. There wouldn’t have been enough room for another pumpkin vine.
This week, I made the first harvest of four pumpkins. I waited about a week too long on the largest pumpkin. The outside is wrinkly and spongy, and the inside of the pumpkin resonates with a dull, mushy sound when I thump it.
There are six more pumpkins still ripening. I will watch their maturation progress more carefully and be aware of when they need to be harvested.
Until next time,
writing through history one romance upon a time