Thank the Lord it's finally fall. But would somebody please let summer know? I'm not sure it got the memo.
I spent this past Friday at the farmer's market, chatting with customers, melting in the 92 degree late-summer heat, and anxiously awaiting the certain relief that I just knew would come at 3:02 PM Central Standard Time--the official beginning of fall. You know what I mean...the glaring sunlight would take on a filtered cast, the temperature would plummet into the mid-60's, and the green leaves on the city park trees would immediately turn orange and begin gracefully cascading down around my produce-stuffed booth.
Well, it's Sunday morning, and I'm still waiting.
But I'm at home now--I'm not still sitting at the farmer's market. That would just be odd.
As would be wandering around in the garden snapping pictures of pumpkins while squinting through blurry sweat-stung eyes in the brutal mid-afternoon heat and suffocating humidity, but that's what I did anyway yesterday.
Because it's finally fall.
And I figured I'd better check out my pumpkins...and so should you. But I won't make you suffer through the torturous conditions I had to endure yesterday; I'll just let you sit in the comfort of your lovely air-conditioned home and leisurely scroll through the photos I took.
There's no end to the lengths I'll go to for the people I love.
Your welcome.
I spent this past Friday at the farmer's market, chatting with customers, melting in the 92 degree late-summer heat, and anxiously awaiting the certain relief that I just knew would come at 3:02 PM Central Standard Time--the official beginning of fall. You know what I mean...the glaring sunlight would take on a filtered cast, the temperature would plummet into the mid-60's, and the green leaves on the city park trees would immediately turn orange and begin gracefully cascading down around my produce-stuffed booth.
Well, it's Sunday morning, and I'm still waiting.
But I'm at home now--I'm not still sitting at the farmer's market. That would just be odd.
As would be wandering around in the garden snapping pictures of pumpkins while squinting through blurry sweat-stung eyes in the brutal mid-afternoon heat and suffocating humidity, but that's what I did anyway yesterday.
Because it's finally fall.
And I figured I'd better check out my pumpkins...and so should you. But I won't make you suffer through the torturous conditions I had to endure yesterday; I'll just let you sit in the comfort of your lovely air-conditioned home and leisurely scroll through the photos I took.
There's no end to the lengths I'll go to for the people I love.
Your welcome.
First up is my favorite, the classic Cinderella Pumpkin.
No cottage garden is complete without these beauties vining through the produce patch...or in my case, beneath the fruit trees. And what's wonderful about them is they actually really do transform into magically horse-drawn carriages every time I need to get to the palace for a Royal Ball.
Every single time! It's so handy...and much more fashionable than showing up in a boring old car.
Hmm. I might've could've slept better last night...it's quite possible I'm still dreaming.
Let's just keep going--I'll wake up eventually.
No cottage garden is complete without these beauties vining through the produce patch...or in my case, beneath the fruit trees. And what's wonderful about them is they actually really do transform into magically horse-drawn carriages every time I need to get to the palace for a Royal Ball.
Every single time! It's so handy...and much more fashionable than showing up in a boring old car.
Hmm. I might've could've slept better last night...it's quite possible I'm still dreaming.
Let's just keep going--I'll wake up eventually.
Here's a young Cinderella on the vine. This one decided to lay on its side, and I totally understand. I myself am much more comfortable lying on my side. I sleep much better that way...not that you needed to know that.
But you do need to know this:
But you do need to know this:
Pumpkin vines never stay where they're supposed to. They're forever creeping and trailing and reaching for whatever patch of bare ground and sunlight they can find. Like this Connecticut Field vine that made its way into the onion patch and then decided to pop out a nice healthy, just-right-for-carving pumpkin.
And then there's this one:
And then there's this one:
This handsome fella is a White Goose Bumps variety that escaped the confines of the garden fence to ramble up and over the blackberry brambles before bursting into this glorious fruitation.
I'm not exactly sure "fruitation" is an actual word, so just be careful if you decide to use the term yourself. Unless you're conversing with me, since clearly I have no qualms about using possibly made-up words in semi-intelligent conversations...or blog posts.
I'm not exactly sure "fruitation" is an actual word, so just be careful if you decide to use the term yourself. Unless you're conversing with me, since clearly I have no qualms about using possibly made-up words in semi-intelligent conversations...or blog posts.
And speaking of "semi-intelligent", this Ghost pumpkin was smart enough to hide itself in the shadows of the zinnia flowers in order to escape the attack that some of the other less-savvy pumpkins succumbed to...
Apparently my French geese have a thing for heirloom pumpkins. I figured that out after discovering several otherwise gorgeous specimens sporting these telltale goose-bite scars on their most accessible sides, and by catching Pierre and Petunia enjoying what appeared to be a pumpkin-tasting party.
And this is the look I got when I asked them to stop eating my pumpkins. This isn't a happy gander...can you see the gleam in his eye?
You should've seen it in person.
Actually, I take that back. It's safer just to see it in digital form. Mostly because he followed that look up with an angry lunge that came dangerously close to my innocent arm, honking some choice words in goose-speak at me, and then rudely turning his back and regally strolling down to the pond, Petunia sashaying alongside him.
He can be a bit moody.
But I still love him.
You should've seen it in person.
Actually, I take that back. It's safer just to see it in digital form. Mostly because he followed that look up with an angry lunge that came dangerously close to my innocent arm, honking some choice words in goose-speak at me, and then rudely turning his back and regally strolling down to the pond, Petunia sashaying alongside him.
He can be a bit moody.
But I still love him.
Although, how it's possible to hold your head so high and look down your snooty nose at the same time is beyond me, but Pierre seems to have figured it out.
It's like a soap opera around here sometimes.
It's like a soap opera around here sometimes.
A soap opera that's set in a pumpkin patch. Ooh! Wouldn't that make a good TV show?! Maybe I'll try to pitch that idea to a network.
Or maybe I'll just sit back and enjoy the live show that's played out for me everyday here on the homestead. It's probably more exciting that way anyway...I'll just have to make sure I'm sitting in the shade, at least until it cools down around here.
Or maybe I'll just sit back and enjoy the live show that's played out for me everyday here on the homestead. It's probably more exciting that way anyway...I'll just have to make sure I'm sitting in the shade, at least until it cools down around here.
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