Sculpin

Our second pumpkin, my favorite, is curing on the dining room table. It’s forty inches around, with a rough skin. I keep going up and petting it. When it comes time to carve it into a jack-o-lantern, I don’t think I’m going to be able to watch.

There are two more big pumpkins and a medium-sized one in various stages of ripeness, plus some little guys that probably won’t ripen at all. Shouting, “Ripen faster!” in Vendetta-like tones does not seem to actually get them to ripen any faster, unsurprisingly, but it’s satisfying anyway.

I’ve put in about half the fava beans. My conclusion: chitting is kind of tedious. And if you happen to get a bad cold when it’s time to plant out the seeds, well, sucks to be you: you’ve got to get those seeds in the ground before the root gets long enough to be fragile.

Next up: moving some plants around. I’ve been planting some silver-foliaged plants in the walkway alongside the house. I haven’t generally been a fan of silvery plants, but they help me see the path better in the dark, so I’m coming around. (Especially for carnations; I love the scent, and they remind me of our wedding.) The volunteer lambs-ear that’s been coming up in back will fill in some spots nicely.

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