Early Pumpkin Harvest

Safe and gorgeous

By Angie Quantrell @AngieQuantrell

I harvested 8 pumpkins this morning.

It's August.

Harvesting pumpkins in August just does not sound right. Especially when it will be around 90 later this afternoon.

Not right at all.

Extenuating circumstances encouraged me to wade deep in the bristly pumpkin patch and knee high grass to grasp my favorite orange fall buddies. Er, I mean, signs of the season. Sure, I talk to my pumpkins. And those dratted slugs and squash bugs. I do admit to speaking kindly to my pumpkin pals. Not so much with the vermin.

Doesn't everyone talk to their plants and garden inhabitants? No? Hmmm.

Slugs. They were eating HOLES in my pumpkins! I rolled one large pumpkin over and a huge spotted slug, probably 3-4 inches long when stretched out, was coiled comfortably in the blossom end hollow. UGH. Tiny little slime booger slugs were creeping all over as well.

Odd. Spring. Weather. We had the weirdest spring. That is all I can blame on the extremely early crops. It was very warm, very hot, and then very cold. Plants in my area don't know what to do. Except grow.

Squash bugs. I've been so busy packing up the house, I missed recognizing the sign of yellowed leaves that indicated I had extra special garden pest visitors. Why, those hungry little insects have moved right in!

Orange. These pumpkin babies were colorful and ready to visit my porch.

Snip, snip, tug, and off we went away from hungry mouths to the safety of shade and protection.

Fall (in August) here we come!

How is your garden growing this year?

Container Landscaping - Porch Decor for the Season

We have a very tiny front porch step. Small though perfect for a vibrant green pot and assorted adornments.

Christmas and winter are but memories, so out goes the pinecones, swags, ribbons, and stuff.

In comes gorgeous pink blooms standing in front of (recycled Christmas) branches of thin grape vine tied into sprays.

A tiny house rests in the dirt hauled from the raised garden beds. The blue cast iron kitty stands on mossy old bricks to keep its feet out of the water that invariably leaks from the bottom after watering.

And Monet noisily interposes herself in the middle of the process. Decorate on, mom. Looking good! Hand me that fly, would you?

Welcome, spring!

This FOG is Driving Me Crazy!

Fog at the beach is one place I enjoy it.

It has been foggy for a million days. Give or take.

Seriously. After a month or two, foggy gray damp cold icy slick days ooze over onto each other and no one can keep track.

"Blah, blah, it will be foggy, blah blah blah, and slick. Blah blah blah, with a fog advisory alert blah blah blah," says Every. Single. Weather. Person.

I love gray. On the walls in my bathroom. Or at the beach (Washington beaches have tons of gray sand). Or on old, weathered wood. Even in my hair, though I prefer to call gray hair silver or twinkles.

But the sky? Occasionally. Yes. For the entire winter season? Uhm, no.

Gray skies, gray trees, gray mists, gray roads, gray cars, gray everything. Even gray people when I am out walking. Until they get close up, that is.

I am ready for snow. Or sunshine. Or rain. Or wind. Especially wind! Yes. Wind will blow out the fog.


Lord, I don't mean to complain. Sorry about that. I would just love snow. Lots of snow with blindingly blue bright skies after the snowfall. Especially in the mountains where we need the snowpack to be built up. Especially in the valleys that have been socked in for what feels like forever with icy cold fog. Please shower down snow in this northwest state that will soon be desperate for water. Fill our reservoirs and lakes and water tables. Let it be known that You are in charge of the weather and hear our requests. My request. Thank You for the fog. For it makes it feel like winter. Thank You for the weather and precipitation we receive for our farms and homes and parks and rivers and lakes. You are in charge of the cycles and seasons. For this we, I, give You praise. And thanks. Always thanks. Love, from the foggy-eyed lady with twinkles in her hair.

Angie Quantrell is wearing shades of gray. No, not that book. But literal glasses that see gray everywhere she looks. Patience and getting out into the gray is the key to staying sane. Right?