The Pear and the Pumpkin Seedling

My grandfather loved his pear tree. He grew it from a tiny seed, watered, fed, and pruned it until it was ready to yield its first fruits.

He was proud to cut up and serve his fresh, sweet pear wedges to us all.

People knew how to garden back then. They knew how to raise things. They knew how to keep pests away without synthetic chemicals.

And my grandfather’s knowledge went beyond seed starting. He also knew how to grow roses from cuttings, without packaged, powdered hormones.

My grandparents didn’t go to a nursery to buy plants.

They grew a full garden from seeds. Those seeds came from the prior year’s harvested fruits and vegetables. These were not hybrid plants, but were varieties passed from neighbors, relatives, and friends.

Cabbages, beets, tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers; I even remember a few corn stalks bringing up the rear in my grandparents’ garden, right against the back alleyway.

My grandmother made dill pickles in the summer, when the cucumbers were ready and the dill plants had flowered. She used really big ceramic crocks and stowed them on the long shelf next to the basement stairs.

Those were some tasty pickles.

The seasons dictated the menu back then. If you managed to find a watermelon at the grocery store in December it wasn’t just expensive – it was awful!

What You Don’t Know Yet

I wish I had learned more about gardening and preserving foods from my grandparents.

When I was a preschooler I recall trying to emulate my grandfather.

I was raising a little pumpkin seedling in a small garden patch in our backyard. The fact that a little sprout came from a dry, dead-looking seed mesmerized me. I felt protective of my little pumpkin plant.

On this warm, humid, summer day my dad was pointing out to me the cumulonimbus clouds clustered on the dark horizon.

“See, there’s a big storm coming,” he warned. “We’ve got to get things picked up before it hits.” He went about gathering lawn chairs and hauling them into the garage.

I looked at my little pumpkin seedling. How would it survive a big storm? I was afraid that it would be drowned or blown away.

Then, I remembered how my grandfather protected his rose cuttings in the garden.

He would put a Mason jar over the cutting, making a little greenhouse over the sprouting rose stem.

Well, I didn’t have a Mason jar. So I looked around for something else.

“Here, in the sandbox,” I thought. “That blue sand pail should do the trick.”

I emptied the sand from the pail, carried it over to my pumpkin plant, and turned it upside down to cover the seedling.

Safe!

Now, my dad was calling me to come inside. Within a few minutes, lighting streaked the sky and thundered rolled over the hills. I slapped my open palms over my ears every time the rumbling began. It was all so dramatic.

Perishing Pumpkins

By the next morning I forgot all about the storm, and the sand pail, and my seedling. That’s what kids do.

I went about my life.

Some days later (I’m not sure how many), my dad and I were in the backyard and he asked me about the progress of my pumpkin plant.

Oh, yes, the pumpkin plant!

Running to the blue sand pail, I carefully lifted it up and looked.

At first, I saw nothing.

Then, I saw a sad, dried up stem and withered leaf lying on top of the soil where my baby pumpkin plant once grew.

What had happened?

I walked slowly over to my dad and asked him to look at the plant. “Why does my pumpkin look so bad?” I asked.

He saw the pail next to the plant and asked me if I did something to the plant.

“I covered it with the sand pail so the big storm wouldn’t hurt it,” I admitted.

My dad then explained to me that, unlike the clear Mason jar, the sand pail didn’t allow the pumpkin plant to get any sunlight; and that plants need sunlight to grow.

I think that is when I learned my first lessons about how much power we, as humans, wield over our environment and over the life growing in it.

I also realized that there was way more I needed to learn about gardening.

To this day, sixty years later, I am still learning.

And I am still in awe over how much power we humans have over our environment.

I only wish that we could do a better job of learning from our mistakes.