The Minnesota Farm Woman

As most of you know, I haven’t had the best luck with growing squash and pumpkins. Oh, I get a few and am thankful for those, but would love to have enough of a harvest to give some away.  Early this spring, I planted three varieties of pumpkin and four of winter squash, plus watermelon and a cantaloupe called Minnesota Midget.  I planted two or three little peat pots of each, and they did well. Because I like to plan and be well-organized, I carefully labelled each pot. This system worked well until late spring, when I set the pots outside for the plants to harden off before putting them in the ground and the rain washed away the labels. When it came time to put them in the garden, I decided the larger plants were the pumpkins and the smaller were the squash. I thought that I could figure out the melons without difficulty. I don’t know if it has been the rain, the warm humid weather, the chicken manure I fertilized them with, or a combination of all three, but they have taken off. Each and every one of the little buggers.  They are huge, and I can’t remember which one  I planted where, if I even knew that to begin with. So much for my organizational skills.  They are squeezing out my broccoli and choking my cabbage. My onions are fighting for space. Last week, I measured a vine that grew four feet in one day, and I think that another one pinched me on the behind while I was weeding on my hands and knees.   They have all grown together in one huge green mass, punctuated with dozens of bright yellow blossoms and more than four feet tall at the highest point.  I have no idea which blossom belongs to which plant, but so far the fruits all look like pumpkins to me.  All I know is that I try to keep them away from my beans and sunflowers, so I carefully move their vines and tendrils every evening and when I check the next day, they are back to where they were and longer than before. They are taking over everything. If they even attempt a tomato takeover, I will have to get out my machete.  Truthfully,  I don’t have a machete, but maybe I can borrow one somewhere.   There has been a lot of talk lately about the coming of the zombie apocalypse, but I think everyone is wrong. Zombies? I don’t think so. Pumpkins? Pumpkins are more believable. Sweet, country-sounding names like Baby Boo, Howden, and Amish Sugar Pie. Innocent-looking, viney, fast growing pumpkins that twist and  twine themselves around your ankles, pulling you closer and closer to the compost pile.  Scary, isn’t it?  I don’t want to cause any wide-spread panic in Talmoon, but watch out, because if they continue to grow at this rate, my Connecticut Field pumpkins will reach your borders by Halloween. Get your machetes ready.