I’ve said before - I’m not much of a gardener. My husband and I always joked that I had the Black Thumb of Death. Pat would warn not to let plants get near me. My grandfather, Leonard, was a terrific gardner; I have pictures of him standing proudly amidst his produce. He died when I was very small but my few memories of him include the beautiful garden he grew. I never thought I inherited the genes for that skill - I was prone to over-watering. Once damage from over-watering was done I would be afraid and then under water. I always had a rough time getting a knack for keeping greenery alive. It’s not that I didn’t want to... I’ve tried growing things before and wound up with one tiny cucumber, a cantaloupe, watermelon eaten by ants when it was under 3 inches long, and one perfect pumpkin that I cherished. I get very, very excited about pumpkins so I always felt that one was a big success. (I made it into pies after admiring it for a few weeks). Having a volunteer pumpkin patch decide to grow on its own, right outside my kitchen window - this was spectacular!
Given that I had tried to grow pumpkins before and wound up with just one, I wasn’t very confident but I read up on the topic. I studied the needs of pumpkins, learned how to feed them and water them properly. I kept turning the vines from the street. I fought off slugs and mildew with help from friends in the know (big thanks to cousin Pete). I went out there daily with a paintbrush and a Q-tip ready to help pollinate (I learned about pumpkin plants having male and female flowers - quite interesting). Turns out I didn’t need to help the process. Bees and friendly little bugs were hard at work from dawn until midday. Before I knew it, pumpkins were growing and I, with bated breath, was out of doors every morning checking for new ones.
Some grew well, some didn’t. Some started off with promise and were attacked by slugs or worms that pierced through the still soft outer skin. How much this reminded me of myself! As I have been adjusting to widowhood, I’ve scattered my seed in the forms of hopes, dreams and bids for survival. Some of that seed grew, some didn’t. Of the seeds that grew, there were many that held promise but could not grow to maturity because the soil that wasn’t right, the attacks of the enemy, or my own neglect. Some pumpkins were hardy; some were fragile from the get-go.
In my pumpkin patch, the seeds all came from one pumpkin but the pumpkins that grew all looked very different. There were large pumpkins, oval pumpkins, pigmy albinos, small green ones that didn’t turn orange… variety. There were ones that held promise, that I was so excited about, and that couldn’t take the heat after harvest and rotted sooner than I expected. And so my plans and expectations have all been different -- and even things I thought held great promise didn’t necessarily last.
So as you can see in the photo, my pumpkin patch is dying and I’m sad to see it go. Harvesting that last pumpkin was like reading the last page of a book that I didn’t want to end… but it doesn’t have to. The characters in a book live on - a sequel could be written, just like my pumpkin patch is not truly, really dead; it’s fruit will be used for future growth. The beautiful pumpkins that didn’t stay intact as I hoped? They are out in the far back of my yard and I hope to grow a planned pumpkin patch with them next year. Each seed holds within it the hope of a new pumpkin vine and the potential for future fruit. John 12:24 reads, “Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds” Think of how many seeds are in each pumpkin! Think of how many seeds - ideas, dreams, goals, challenges - are in me, just waiting for a chance to be planted.
The accidental pumpkin patch wasn’t in the safest place but it grew...and I learned from its growth. My hope is to use what I have learned to be a wise and prepared gardener, not just a gardener by chance. I will strive to grow things in the best place -- but I’ll still be open to surprise gardens. There are things in my life that held promise, that even produced fruit...and their season is also over. I think of Thomas Edison who said, “I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work.” For the things that I put hope in that didn’t float, Learning growth and death, success and failure, the patterns or the randomness - it has all been and continues to be necessary for me to become who I’m meant to be. Maybe the pumpkin patch right there, accidentally planted on a roadside, is who I am… but maybe my life in its fullest is still a seed inside one of the pumpkins that grew from that patch and needs to be planted, grow its own vine, and become a patch to be reckoned with.
So is this the end of my accidental pumpkin patch? I don’t think so...within the seeds it nourished there is hope.
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