Archive for the ‘Plants’ Category

Oh, how I wish this WERE a fable. But it’s not. It’s a true story of yet another victim of the winter of 2014-15. The story goes like this:

The former owner of our house was quite a gardener. She planted lovely perennials, trees, and shrubs, and very few of them were to my liking. (But to be fair, she didn’t plant them for me.) I am living with most of her choices because I do recognize her skill, and the health and vigor of the plants. This includes two dwarf Japanese maples (acer palmatum) that flank the driveway-side of our house.

These two trees met the winter in a similar way: healthy and fully clothed in bark. But sometime, during a dark winter night before the first blizzard, a porcupine (erethizon doratum) started snacking on the bark of one tree. When the snow receded, the extent of the damage became clear. And I now know why this critter’s Latin name is so apt. “Erethizon doratum”? Your translated name is “quill pig” and that’s about how I’m feeling towards you right now.


The one maple tree that survived unchewed:


And the stripped maple tree that was far enough from the doorway to escape our notice so that the cowardly rodent could pig-out:


Here is a close-up of a chewed branch. Note the teeth marks:


Am I upset? You betcha. But perhaps not for the reason you imagine. Husband is very very upset that we have lost a beautiful tree. Me? Not about that. Remember, this wasn’t my favorite inherited planting. I’m more upset that we have a porcupine close to our house and to our two dogs.

I am not alone in my dismay about these prickly beasts. They have been referenced by comedians, poets, and Communist leaders alike, and all seem to agree: These are tough customers. Two more quotes to accompany my “Words from Others” widget:

“If you start throwing hedgehogs under me, I shall throw a couple of porcupines under you.”

  • Nikita Khrushchev (Russian politician, 1894-1971)

“The porcupine, whom one must handle gloved, may be respected, but never loved.”

  • Arthur Guiterman (American writer and poet, 1871-1943)

Lest you think that I am a heartless, unfeeling porcupine hater, I will share two facts with you that prove that even porcupines are creatures that a mother could love (a Quill Pig mother, I mean).

Fact #1: Baby porcupines are called “porcupettes.” (awww)

Fact #2: A baby porcupine’s quills are ready to use 20 minutes after they are born. (It is that 20-minute delay that earns them a mother’s love.)

The snow has finally retreated, and the full extent of this winter’s damage is known. I’m hoping this is the last hurrah for our porcupine neighbor. If I have to write a blog about rushing our dogs to the vet in the middle of the night for Quill Removal, you can bet I will not be including any cute facts about these little prickly pigs at the end of that post.


“I’m a little hoarse tonight. I’ve been living in Chicago for the past two months, and you know how it is, yelling for help on the way home every night. Things are so tough in Chicago that at Easter time, for bunnies, the little kids use porcupines.”

— Fred Allen, (Comedian, 1894-1956)

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Thank you, Robert Lewis Stevenson.

I embarked on a grand experiment of testing the viability of 9 varieties of highly coveted seeds by using the damp-paper-towel method, and failed. Utterly. While I suspect the fault lies both with the seeds as well as my ham-handed efforts, it was a sobering event. Nothing like abject failure to make that mirror you look in every morning crystal clear. (Although Mr. Stevenson’s remarks have tempered my humiliation with a weency bit of pride for having at least made the attempt.)

I was gifted last fall with 9 baggies of seeds, collected by Generous Friend from her garden. I was delighted, and when I looked at the varieties, I was ecstatic. Some folks covet designer brand clothing, gourmet cookware, gems, or cars. Not me. I saw the package labeled “Salmon Coneflower” and was elated. How much did I want those plants? A lot more than a car, and that’s the truth.

I was a bit concerned when Generous Friend confessed she had collected the seeds when they were wet. My understanding is that is a no-no – the moisture encourages mold – but I was still game. The seeds waited in the bottom drawer of my refrigerator all winter, and I recently took them out, followed instructions found on the Internet for the paper-towel method of testing their viability, and began the attempt. Here is what happened:

I collected my materials. The seeds, baggies, a cookie sheet on which to rest the seed-laden baggies, bleach, a shot glass (for measuring, promise) water, sieve, and a bowl:


Oh. And a diet coke:


The idea is simple: Place some seeds between sheets of dampened paper towels, put the damp towel in a baggie, and watch for 10-14 days. At the end of that time, count how many seeds have sprouted. If you are testing 10 and 8 seeds germinate, then 80% of your seeds are viable. If only 2 germinate, and you still really want to use those seeds, you’d better plan to plant a LOT of seeds to make sure you get enough plants.

Do you really need to see the process of changing dry paper towels to damp ones? No, I’m certain you don’t. However, I took the photos, so here they are:

First, I soaked 9 sheets of paper towel and draped them over a rack in the sink:


As needed, I wrung out each towel and brought it over to my worktable to place my seeds:



The next step was a cautionary one: dip the seeds in a mild water-bleach solution to kill any mold on them. I quickly replaced my large-mesh sieve with a more delicate one. I was in danger of losing the bitty seeds to the bottom of the bleach bowl:


The seeds I was most eager the germinate, the salmon-colored coneflowers, were of course in the bag showing the most humidity:


I was undeterred. I shredded the seed head on a dry paper towel, and prepared to count out the 25 seeds I’d decided to germinate for each variety.



Then I arranged the seeds on the damp paper towel, in neat rows. Easier to count and keep track of that way, I reasoned:


Here is a damp paper towel, loaded with 25 seeds ready for the bag. Note that I put the seeds on one half of the towel, so I could fold the other half over the seeds:


I folded the towel and slid it into a baggie. Each baggie was labeled, and as instructed, I left a small gap in the seal so that the seeds had some ventilation:




And then I placed the cookie sheet in a warm place, covered it so that the seeds were kept in the dark, and checked the seeds every day so that I wasn’t kept in the dark. After 14 days, I had a very puny result: 1 rudbeckia seed germinated and 1 bee balm seed germinated.  How good is your eyesight?  I promise you, there is a seed germinating in each of the photos below.



Am I discouraged? A bit. Am I defeated? Nope. Am I still grateful to Generous Friend? You bet! My plan now is to plant my garden, and leave some clear welcoming soil for the remaining seeds. I will plant them, and give them a shot. Who knows?

Perhaps these seeds were the DIY variety, the ones not eager to accept a helping hand, the ones that wanted to launch on their own. Maybe Generous Neighbor had given me 9 baggies of Teenagers. You never know.

Mr. Stevenson declares that I should evaluate myself by the seeds I plant and not by the harvest I reaped. By that measure, I did well. I’ll take that assessment, thank you.


“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.”

― Robert Louis Stevenson, author (1850-1894)

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“It’s an event like no other.” Agreed. It is a place where rural life is celebrated, and where three days aren’t nearly enough to see everything.

It’s a place where no one over 30 dyes their hair, and so salt & pepper are suddenly not just condiments. It is a place where people under 30 frequently do dye their hair, to colors not natural to man. Kool-Aid red, peacock blue, and eggplant purple are much more common than, say, blonde highlights.

It is a place where the livestock is often enormous, the food portions are generous, and no bottled water is sold. (Yes, they’re making a point.) The event is organized seamlessly, perfectly, thoughtfully – outside of Disneyland, I’ve never seen the like. Drinking stations where you can fill your own water bottle are plentiful, as are hand-washing stations, toilets, and parking spaces. All of these things combine to create an atmosphere of peace and calm. What more could anyone possibly want?

How about a quiet walk to the entrance, described by one sign-making wag as a “10 minute walk of wooded bliss”? It looked like this:


Then look over the program. There are approximately 150 presentations/demonstrations/talks given EACH DAY, over the course of three days. What are you interested in? Farming/Gardening? Livestock? Cooking/Herbs/Health? Environment/Community/Education? Traditional Arts/Fiber & Fleece?

Here are a few of the better titles from the categories above:

Weave Like It’s 1699
Basic Dowsing
Getting Your Goats
Old Tales of the Maine Woods
When the Horse Says, “I am not leaving”

You get the idea. With the exception of “Basic Dowsing”, the presentations I attended were a little more mainstream. Beekeeping, heritage apples, medicinal herbs, gardening for birds and wildlife. And as for the dowsing course, I may or may not write about it. I came home with two brass dowsing rods and a complete inability to explain what I experienced in that class. I am still unsettled.

Let me show you some of the wonders of the fair. Of course, there was the lovely 2014 poster, which highlighted medicinal herbs, all of which I have grown except for stinging nettle. I remedied that (ha) by buying some nettle tea.


There was the expected Exhibition Hall with proudly displayed vegetables and flowers from local farmers, including the “Judges’ Award” perfect leek:




There were incredible crafts, including swags of switchgrass, lovely baskets, and items made from felted wool, such as this whimsical mask:


And there were the animals:


Including piglets, with a generous offer to name the 6 mulefoot hog piglets. My suggestions added to the Name Jar? Tallulah and Walter.



There were the tents housing crafts, political agendas, and the offerings of companies large and small. One of my three favorite companies was there, the glorious Fedco:


There were the heritage apples on display, presented after attending a talk on heritage apples, and a discussion of how to find and offer scions (cuttings) of rare apple varieties:



And then, of course, there were the people. Every flavor and style imaginable. Here are a few photos. The first shows the tenacity of the fair-goers despite the rainy blustery weather on Sunday. Crowded into a tent, with only their legs in view. Their heads were, I am certain, deeply engaged in the presentation.


Then there was the total stranger who wore a t-shirt that I found so compelling that I tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he’d mind if I took a photo of the back of his shirt. It said:


The front of his shirt said “Camp Wellstone”, as in the late Senator Paul Wellstone from Minnesota.

And finally, to end my day, this photo of what one fair-goer used as a bumper for his truck. Because, after all, why not do for yourself, take care of yourself, and be creative – if you can? Only in Maine.


I came home with three scarlet runner bean seeds (Jack never had magic beans like these), my dowsing rods, tea, presents, heaps of business cards and brochures, and a desire to research the background of Switchel – an old-fashioned haying drink that was offered at one booth. A concoction of water, vinegar, maple syrup, and ginger, it was as bright, delicious, and surprising as the fair itself.

I’m going back. I just wish I didn’t have to wait a whole year.

“If you’ve ever been to the Fair, you know — and if you haven’t been, anyone who has will tell you — it’s an event like no other, that brings together so many people from so many walks of life, all in the spirit of celebrating the rural and agricultural traditions of Maine.”

–from the MOFGA (Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association) home page, describing the Common Ground Country Fair

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Worm Wrangling 101

How did you spend YOUR Sunday afternoon? I spent mine in a room with about 30 “children” (ages 5-85), one instructor, and hundreds of worms.

The worms (eisenia fetida, or “red wigglers” for the less lofty) have become my garden partners. I will feed them scraps from my kitchen, keep them warm and contained, and they will produce castings that will feed my plants. I think this is a very good deal.

I took a class on raising worms from F.A.R.M.S. – Focus on Agriculture in Rural Maine Schools. These folks offer classes in gardening, cooking, healthy living, and as if that weren’t enough, offer free movies about food and farming every Friday night. The age range of students in that classroom was astounding, and a testament to the interesting and important work they do. Check out their website: http://www.mefarms.org/

In addition to information about what they’re up to, the site includes recipes and an interesting blog.

This class is useful at any time of the year, but is particularly poignant when offered to Mainers at the end of a very long winter, when spring is still many weeks away. (Mainers know that the calendar is a cruel mistress. What she says is virtually never what you get. So, March 20th is labeled the first day of spring? It is to laugh.) But thanks to my worm wrangling class, I can actually start on my garden, even when I shouldn’t start my seedlings until mid-April and I shouldn’t set my seedlings out until Memorial Day. No matter. The worms and I have plans.

It begins with humble ingredients:
— a plastic bin with air holes on all sides (including the bottom),
— a lid for that plastic bin (to keep the worms in. Yes, apparently they will wander if allowed),
— shredded bedding made of paper, coconut fiber, or woods chips (anything that holds moisture and allows the worms to burrow)
— a little grit, water, and organic food
— worms!

Here are a few photos from my happy Sunday. I’ve known about vermicomposting (using worms to transform kitchen scraps into compost) for years, but this was my first hands-on experience. It was a lovely reason to get my hands dirty.

First up: Filling my bin with shredded paper. The instructor confessed that she had just shredded mountains of bills, and brought them to class. One of the benefits, I’m sure of having a class scheduled close to April 15th:


Next step: enough water to make the paper spongy but not wet. This was a delicate operation, and I confess I needed a rag to clean up the water that leaked out of the bottom of my bin. Yet another example of “More Enthusiasm Than Skill” (the name I’ve chosen for my autobiography, if I ever get around to writing it).


Worms need grit to help them grind up their food. We were offered cups of garden limestone to sprinkle over the bedding.


The instructor had brought in a large bin filled with worm castings and worms. We were given sieves to tap the castings into round balls that were then easily scooped into Baggies to save for our gardens. The worms were left exposed and were easily picked up and dropped into our bins.

The instructor’s large bin was also available to the class for additional wrangling. One young girl was so thrilled at being allowed to collect worms that she offered to get mine for me. Of course I said yes!


And this is what my hand-selected worms looked like in my newly made bin today:


My big compost bin is not yet set up in my garden, because I’m not sure where the beds will be laid out. And every time I’ve tossed coffee grounds and eggshells into the trash, I’ve cringed at the waste and lost potential. But now, thanks to my red wiggler pals, my kitchen scraps have a new home and a new purpose in life.

I think I’m gonna need a bigger bin.

“I used to say that one ton of worms could eat one ton of garbage. I was always thinking big like that. Then I found out that Seattle had distributed four thousand worm bins. I did some figuring and realized that worked out to ten tons of garbage going into worm bins. That’s when I realized—it’s happening!”

— Mary Appelhof, American biologist (1936-2005) — worm composting activist and author of “Worms Eat My Garbage”

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A Faithful Reader asked for photos of my actual field illustrated in the sketch posted in my last entry. As you wish!

(Please note that you can click on these photos to bring up a larger image, where the detail is clearer.)

Here is another photo of the garden sketch, a little closer:


This shows the main flower garden, with three tiny circles marked with X’s, the shady area to the right, and the rock ledges in the back of the sketch. At the bottom right is the curved area at the front of the garden. I will match these areas with photos. The area to the left that is destined for sunflowers and herbs is not in any photos, because I only recently decided to plant this area as well. It is hard to exercise restraint when the subject is gardening.

First, this is the area that forms the flower garden. A rock wall in front, a large cleared field, and a rock wall in the back. The Plan calls for 9 flower beds to go here:


Next, the reality behind the three circled X’s: These are iron spikes anchored in rocks, that were part of the horse farm, once upon a time. This view looks back at our house, with the barn and the screened porch, and Gordon the Gentlemanly Mutt on patrol:


Finally, this is the shady area of the garden, where I plan to plant forget-me-not, bleeding heart, coral bells, astilbe, and other shade-tolerant plants. On the sketch, this area is to the right, under the poofy circles that represent trees:


I just ordered a “soiless” mix from Johnny’s Selected Seeds to start my seedlings indoors, so the 2014 Gardening Season has started. I will photograph the Great Soil-Cube And Seed Planting event very soon.

I will be posting more detailed photos as the snow clears, and I get my hands dirty once again. Now that I know what the Plan is, I can better illustrate the steps and share the triumphs and defeats with you!

“In garden arrangement, as in all other kinds of decorative work, one has not only to acquire a knowledge of what to do, but also to gain some wisdom in perceiving what it is well to let alone.”

— Gertrude Jekyll, British horticulturalist, garden designer (1843-1932)

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Planning the Garden

We have moved and things are different. Our mortgage is gone. Our taxes are halved. And my garden has doubled.

I left behind a 40’ x 50’ garden in New York, and now I have a 100’ x 180’ garden in Maine. I had better plan this carefully.

Here is a photo of the sketch Husband did of the area I will be working on this year. The scale: 1” = 10’.


The rectangular shapes are stone walls, and the poofy swirls are trees.

From left to right, starting in the back: that smaller rectangular area has woods to the back and our neighbor’s field to the left (northeast). My plan is for this smaller area to have sunflowers, herbs, a seat for quiet contemplation, lots of fragrance, and lots of butterflies.

The larger area to the right will be the flower garden, with the wooded area at the far-right becoming the shade garden.

The area in the left foreground will have the orchard (we have apple, peach, and pear trees coming on April 30th!), and that circular area is the base of a silo. I’m thinking of a rose-covered arbor across the back half of that curve.

How will I tackle this enormous area? Here are my first thoughts:

Step 1. Don’t plan to do too much this first year.
Because we are starting two new businesses, which includes Husband’s art gallery and studio, and a rental apartment above the studio, and because we are having the outside of the house painted in the spring, I cannot plant everything I would like this first year.

I will not be planning or planting anything that is next to the house. I’m going to let the painters come and go as they will, trample anything they want, and I will not be biting my fist in an attempt to stop screaming. I will let this area go entirely.

I have planned 11 flowerbeds out in the back field, and I will be happy if I get 4 of those beds up and running this year.

Step 2: Know the enemy — earth.
What is under that lovely dark, formerly-a-horse-farm soil that I have out back? Is it rich dark loam, enriched over the years by those long-gone horses? Or is it one or two inches of dirt sitting on top of rock ledge? We have lots of granite rearing up that we can see, and that I’m already planning to use as flooring or backdrop for seating in the garden.

But the rest of that vast expanse….will I be able to dig beds there, or will I be begging Husband to supervise the construction of 11 raised beds?

Husband prefers I dig into the ground rather than go to the expense of building raised beds. So as soon as the ground thaws (April?) we will be out there with a metal spike and a mallet, and will tap our way across the field, trying to determine how deep the soil is. We will be graphing the underground lay of the land.

Step 3: Put my thoughts on paper.
Done. I filled several pages in my notebook with lists of the plants I wanted, with the goal of having something blooming all season long. Here’s a look at one corner of one page:


Step 4: Shuffle the cards, and stack the “beds”.
After I write, I need to see. I wrote the name of each plant on an index card, and borrowed Husband’s colored pencils to mark the color of the bloom. Here are the pencils he so graciously loaned me:


I mixed and shuffled and reshuffled these cards for days and days. I wanted the tallest of the plants at the top of the stack, with the spring-bulbs at the bottom. Once I was happy with the 11 stacks of cards, I taped them together so that I could then move the “beds” around and arrange them.


And here’s a closer look at a few of the “beds” I have planned:




I am planning to scatter shade-loving woodland plants under the trees at the southeast corner of the garden. While I have these gathered into a “bed” stack, I’m going to plant them individually. Here’s what I’ve chosen:


Step 5: Know the enemy – roots
I want a bed of mints, which means I need to plan ahead to thwart the invasive roots of these plants. I figured I would gang them up in one area, and install some kind of gulag around them. I’m planning to have monarda didyma to welcome the hummingbirds, bees, and butterflies, and flank it with lemon balm, and mint. While I wanted peppermint and spearmint specifically, I now know that mint plants do not produce true from seed, and so my seed packet is labeled, humbly, “Common Mint.” If I want specific mints, I will have to buy plants. I may do that.


Step 6: Think tall.
I ordered some shrubs, trees, and plants from FedCo, a cooperative seed and garden supply company in Waterville, Maine. My neighbors rave about them. My garden heroes (Barbara Damrosch, for one) recommend them. FedCo offers the plants and shrubs and trees that I want, and their catalog is jammed with wonderful advice. And their prices are astounding. I had to exercise enormous restraint when filling out my order form. I got all of my taller plants from them.


Step 7: Know the enemy – Odocoileus virginianus and Meteagris gallopava silvestris.
These super villains have secret identities: white-tailed deer and Eastern wild turkeys. They have free run of the place when my dogs are inside.

I need to keep the deer out of my garden at night, and the turkeys out of the garden during the day. I have considered and rejected installing an electric fence. I am concerned, of course, with the safety of our garden’s guests, but truthfully, the most likely casualty of an electric fence ZAP would be me. I tend to look down when I am in the garden, and I’m certain I would walk directly into that fence daily.

The plan, for now, is to buy yards and yards and yards of deer netting, and fasten it to the trees on 3 sides of the garden. If that isn’t effective, I will add a 4th stretch of netting across the house-side of the garden, and will add another chore to the daily list: walking the “4th wall” across the garden and fastening it at the end of each day. I will be, I guess, tucking my garden in for the night.

And so there you have it, my Plan to-date. What’s next? My favorite task of the year: Making soil cubes and planting seeds. That will happen in mid-March, and I am counting the days.

This last plan solves T.S. Eliot’s dark observation of the despair and frustration gardeners feel each April: “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.”

My plan is to thwart cruel April by tending my seedlings inside. When May comes, I will have my memories of gardens past, and my desire answered by the seedlings. I will be ready.

Stay tuned.

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It is Pumpkinfest in Damariscotta, Maine, and how happy I am to be a part of it!

The Weigh-Off was last weekend — 65 giant Atlantic Pumpkins were brought to the local garden center and weighed. The 1st place prize went to a pumpkin weighing 1,266 pounds, and 2nd place went to the slimmer 1,264 pound pumpkin — both produced by the same grower.

The pumpkins are sponsored by local businesses, and after the Weigh-Off they are brought into town and placed on palettes by trucks and forklifts. It is Damariscotta’s version of the inflating of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons, and it is a wonderful, traffic-tying-up event.

It takes two days for local artists to carve and paint these pumpkins. The giant pumpkins have their insides gutted and the seeds removed before they are turned over for decorating. Why? Because the growers do not want their seeds falling into the hands of a competitor. The total purse of prize money awarded is $10,000, and so the genetics and growing practices of these farmers are a highly guarded secret.

Husband and I walked the streets of our little town today, so delighted that we had chosen this charming place to call home. Here are photos of a few of the pumpkins, some in progress, and some completed. Humor, artistry, imagination, all on display here. I will include captions where appropriate.


Outside a jewelry store, this "Day of the Dead" theme is continued on the jewelry for sale inside.

Outside a jewelry store, this “Day of the Dead” theme is continued on the jewelry for sale inside.



Every side of this pumpkin shows hardware, and bits and pieces of household stuff.

Every side of this pumpkin shows hardware, and bits and pieces of household stuff.


Outside the bank, of course!

Outside the bank, of course!


This is a monkey-in-progress, and one that had had the seeds removed to protect the genetic secrets of its giant-ness!

This is a monkey-in-progress, and one that had had the seeds removed to protect the genetic secrets of its giant-ness!

Outside King Eider's Pub, this pumpkin was painted by Glen Chadbourne, resident of the neighboring village and illustrator of many of Stephen King's books.

Outside King Eider’s Pub, this pumpkin was painted by Glen Chadbourne, resident of the neighboring village and illustrator of many of Stephen King’s books.

The Princess and the Pea, pumpkin-style

The Princess and the Pea, pumpkin-style

A goldfish, with fins-to-come.

A goldfish, with fins-to-come.

Outside a facial salon.

Outside a facial salon.

Sponsored by a local plumbing company, of course.

Sponsored by a local plumbing company, of course.



The carving echoes the artwork of the restaurant's logo: the Damariscotta River Grill.

The carving echoes the artwork of the restaurant’s logo: the Damariscotta River Grill.

Herons, sharing their sand bars with pumpkins, and with...

Herons, sharing their sand bars with pumpkins, and with…

...the pumpkin stem that became a bald eagle.

…the pumpkin stem that became a bald eagle.

Outside the Colby and Gale gas station, this artist had just started carving into the huge pumpkin.  Intrigued by the roof, I peaked behind and found ...

Outside the Colby and Gale gas station, this artist had just started carving into the huge pumpkin. Intrigued by the roof, I peaked behind and found …

...the little theater, destined to be placed under that shingled roof.

…the little theater, destined to be placed under that shingled roof.

Outside the ice cream store.

Outside the ice cream store.

Pumpkins can wear masks, too.

Pumpkins can wear masks, too.


This week, Hansel and Gretel discover a house made of sweet squashes and gourds, and....

This week, Hansel and Gretel discover a house made of sweet squashes and gourds, and….

...a witch!

…a witch!

Outside the Newcastle Public House, this pumpkin became a giant cheeseburger, with the pumpkin seeds transformed into sesame seeds.  This one gets my vote for Best Carved Pumpkin Ever.

Outside the Newcastle Public House, this pumpkin became a giant cheeseburger, with the pumpkin seeds transformed into sesame seeds. This one gets my vote for Best Carved Pumpkin Ever.

And of course, what is a pumpkin festival without a little humor? After a day of seeing huge, enormous, gigantic pumpkins, resting their great weight on stacks of wooden palettes, I loved seeing this:



“…dark furrow lines grid the snow, punctuated by orange abacus beads of pumpkins…”

― John Geddes, author, “A Familiar Rain”

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