Pumpkins enjoy a soft bed and a hard pillow. Before I planted mine back in May, I tipped an entire barrow-load of bulky organic matter – in this case spent mushroom compost – spread it to an area of around 3’x3′ or a square metre and dug it deeply into the soil. Into each of these squares, I planted one of my pumpkins. I am growing ‘Marina di Chioggia’, ‘Red Kuri’, ‘Delicato Ibrido F1’ and ‘Rouge vif d’Etampes’. I puddled each one in with a full watering can of water – 2gallons or 10l depending on your preference.
And, being busy, that was as much care as I could spare them for the next six weeks or so, bar the intermittent weeding of their lush bed. We have now had an extended period of drought and the temperatures have been good, even excessive at times. Two days of close to 40Celsius would stress plants at any time, never mind after drought.
The pumpkin vines have spread 10’/3m on their main stem with side-shoots of two-thirds that, nonetheless. In the morning, the leaves are like beach parasols, but as the heat of the day increases and the available water diminishes, they close their leaves like umbrellas after rain, trying to conserve as much moisture as they can. I make time to give them a can of water each. The smaller vines of the ‘Red Kuri’ and ‘Delicato Ibrido F1’ will re-open their leaves within half an hour or so. The largest may not until evening and that suits me fine as once their leaves are open, the rate of transpiration – the flow of water through the plant from the roots and out the lenticels of the leaves – increases again. I don’t necessarily want that; I would prefer the plant to be as hydrated as possible. When cucumbers become stressed they become bitter – much like people. When pumpkin plants are stressed they abort the pumpkin. I have lost a few small ones this way which grieves me. I see it as a failure even though every day and throughout every day, I triage the needs of everything under my cure.
The soft, manure-rich bed into which a planted my seedlings is supposed to hold moisture. I tend a walled garden on a roughly south-facing slope. In the bed below the bottom wall I have pumpkins planted also, but these are in un-improved ground. The plants are in full sun throughout the morning and in shade through the afternoon. I have watered these less too, in part as they are furthest from the water-supply, and in part because they exhibit less of the water-stress of the others. Indeed, they are doing almost as well as the ones I cosset.
Once the pumpkins had set well, I sought out clay tiles for them and eased them under the swelling fruit so that they can ripen without contact with the soil. This is the convention.
I wonder.
As a wild plant the pumpkin would not enjoy such consideration. Perhaps it is only necessary in the UK, a temperate island maritime climate where rain is expected, especially in spring and, more importantly, autumn when the pumpkins should be ripening. Perhaps it is a function of selective breeding to have larger pumpkins, and cultivation methods which work towards having fewer, larger fruit rather than many small ones. Even cultivated pumpkins make their own arrangements if possible.
For the second successive year I am growing pumpkins close to a line of espalier apple trees which lie to the west. For the second year running, the pumpkins have found the trees, climbed them, set fruit in them. Last year I found a ‘Rouge vif d’Etampes’ 6’/1.8m high. It makes me ask some questions. Are the pumpkins the Celts of the vegetable world, always chasing the die-ing sun? The presence of the espaliers is accidental if so. I planted my pumpkins in a situation anticipating that they would grow southwards, seeking the longest direction of light. They grew east to start with, seeking the dawn. It wasn’t convenient. And now they set their fruit in the west.
I don’t think it is accidental that the pumpkins have found those trees. I have other climbing plants in pots beneath a wall with support provided. Some of them have reached out – that dreaded phrase – and found their own supports. The growth tendrils look speculative to begin with, but the results suggest some sort of awareness of the presence of other plants, some kind of intent, some form of consciousness.
Left to their own devices, pumpkins don’t choose hard pillows, but lift their babies off the ground – they prefer a hammock. This year a ‘Rouge vif d’Etampes’ (pictured) has climbed the nearest apple tree. At this time, the pumpkin is around 8lbs/3kg in mass. I will find the time to keep its mother well-watered in hope she aborts no more. The vine runs on, climbing higher. There is a flower and the promise of another pumpkin suspended in the tree at eye-level. Strange fruit.
Elsewhere in the garden I have ‘Trombe d’Albengo’ planted beneath orchard trees. Despite the drought, I still hope to have these long curled courgettes hanging from the branches of cherries, plums, and pears. Gardens are serious, significant creations, but that doesn’t mean they have to be humourless.
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