I'd Rather Talk About My Pumpkin Patch
As we careen toward election day, I am copping out and taking refuge in my garden. Check out my gorgeous pumpkins!
I’M TAKING THE SAGE ADVICE of my readers and limiting my intake of political news. Instead of obsessing about every new poll or reading another “deep dive” (I hate that term, by the way) into the mysteries of the American voter, I’m scrolling straight down to the recipe section.
I know I might be failing some readers by not weighing in on these final hours of the campaign and shining a light on what a second Trump presidency will mean for women, but I don’t have it in me anymore. I am exhausted and depleted—in that nether zone beyond panic. Mostly, though, I am just sad—that millions of Americans seem so willing to put back in office a morally-bankrupt human being who brings out our worst nature.
Just writing those thoughts is putting me into another funk. So let me stop. Right now. Instead, let me tell you what’s bringing me a modicum of joy: my amazing, accidental pumpkin patch.
Look, if someone as serious as Joyce Vance can deviate from her insightful legal analysis every now and then to brag about her chickens, why shouldn’t I regale you with the story of my pumpkin patch?
I realize pumpkins might not be as captivating as Vance’s chickens with their fancy plumage and dreamy pastel-hued eggs, but for me, those orange orbs are delightful and life affirming in their own right.
A year ago, I threw a small, rotting pumpkin in a flower bed—and lo and behold, I have about 15 pumpkins growing in my yard! (Actually, two pumpkin patches popped up—in both my back and front yards. How the seeds traveled the distance, I have no idea.) I feel like the mother in Jack and the Beanstalk who tossed a handful of beans out the window that spawned a towering beanstalk, reaching to the castle in the sky. But instead of growing tall, my pumpkin vines spread widely, about 30 feet. They grew over my sedums—which I don’t really like anyway—and took over parts of the lawn. But who cares? It felt magical and sparked joy.
Without further ado, here’s what keeping me (barely) afloat:
So while we await another possible Trump presidency like a prisoner on death row praying for a miraculous reprieve, I find comfort that there will always be another crop of pumpkins in my yard.
Hanging in there,
Vivia
Related post: Stressed About the Election? Advice from Those Wiser Than Me
Contact: chen.vivia@gmail.com
Twitter (X): ViviaChen
What a beautiful garden!