The little pumpkin I wrote about a few weeks ago was ready to be picked yesterday. There are a few tests a pumpkin should pass before it’s harvested. It should, of course, be the right color. If you rap it with your knuckle it should sound a bit hollow. And if you poke it lightly with your fingernail, the skin should be firm enough to offer some resistance. When all that criteria is met, cut the stem with a very sharp knife close to where it attaches to the vine. The stem acts as a scab of sorts, sealing off that end of the pumpkin so it will keep until you’re ready to make the pie you’ve been planning since you planted seeds in June, the pie the critters attempted to thwart, in short, the greatest pie you’ve ever eaten.
This pumpkin is in a race with the calendar.
Will it have time to size and color up before the weather turns, be ready to fulfill its destiny as the main ingredient of a delicious pie? It’s completely out of my hands and there’s no pretending otherwise. Nothing will help a person learn acceptance faster than gardening.
Pumpkins are coming along on schedule.
We made it through the leafing up phase without any damage. I figured we were home free, but I should know better than to count my pumpkins before they’re harvested.
Just behind the pumpkin patch I found an enormous pile of fresh dirt, which led me to this tunnel under the fence. My ‘more enclosed‘ area has been breached. Some days are more of a challenge to my live and let live philosophy than others.