I’m basically a pumpkin patch proprietor.
Not one, nay, but two…count ’em…TWO pumpkins have successfully grown in the backyard.
{2.5 if you count the especially wonky one that’s still on the vine.}
Let’s do some quick mathing:
Last year something {probably slugs} ate my vines. Sum total: zero pumpkins
The year before that the seeds didn’t even sprout for no reason I could fathom. Sum total: nil pumpkins
BUT THIS YEAR.
Oooooooooh. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. And the purchased pumpkins beside them are all, “Who are you?”
This growing season we started off a bit slow, but then a friend showed us how to help them along with a little pollination-assistance. You say AWK. I say WARD. I guess even the Squash Family benefits from a little eHarmony.
I’m touting my pumpkin abilities as I may be failing at many other endeavors. When you ask bitty G what she plans to be for Halloween she says, “Bitty G.” We may have struck a compromise for tomorrow’s preschool Pumpkin Day. She will be sporting her “scary pajamas.” The only scary thing about them right now is I’m not sure if they’ve been washed since last wear and I’d much rather blog than do wash….so….scary pajamas it is. Watch out for the stains of unknown origin.
Bitty G has entirely redeemed this remarkable resistance to traditional Halloween attire by asking if we can, “Go on a punkin hunt,” almost every day on the way to school in which we shout “PUNKIN!” every time we see a porch festooned in pumpkins. It’s all levels of awesome and I want to pull the car right on over and gnaw on her while she’s so little and gnawable. But then she’d be all, “Mom, I’m four.” And I’d be all, “And that’s it, no bigger, okay?” And she’d be all, “Okay, I promise,” because she’s the one more inclined to obedience and respect.
No, bitties, no never grow up, not me, not I, not nobody.
Come pick punkins at our punkin patch next year. I’m pretty sure I can talk the hubby into a corn maze.
