Agriculture, Farming, gardening, Hawaii, Marketing, pumpkins

Harvesting tips for the tropics

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Farming pumpkins is a test of your patience, and part of that means leaving them on the vine longer than you may want to. They reward you with a bounty of tasty fruits that will store through the Winter without refrigeration. If you have properly fed and watered them, done your best to select the right varieties, and counteracted pests, they will thrive will a lot less care than more vulnerable edible plants. With squash, you do much of the work upfront, and then let them go.

One of the problems that growers face is this “hang time” where the vines, blooms, and fruits are vulnerable to anything from feral pigs, rodents, falling branches, floods, windstorms, theft, and insect damage. Throw in that some varieties can also get a sunburn that creates a scorched patch on the squash that will scar the fruits in such a way that it will not store and must be eaten immediately. A lot can go wrong in a season, but a lot can also go right.

One of the ways that you can increase your success is by recognizing when to pick the squash fruits, and then explore how to cure them. In many climates, squash cure on the vine. What I mean by that is that the squash skin toughens, and the stem dries on the vine. The whole squash plant will die back, exposing pumpkins that were hidden below the once lush leaves. In Hawaii, and other tropical and sub-tropical areas, squash vines do not die back for a very long time unless you have stopped watering it or killed the roots of the plant. Leaving the question, “can I harvest them now?” on your mind.

When you grow annual squash plants that have become perennial due to climate, one of the biggest challenges is knowing when to pick. So many people pick way too soon, selecting shiny skinned fruits and then become unsatisfied with the flavor, or lack of flavor. There are traditional recipes in places like Italy and the Philippines, that call for immature fruits. If you are reading this, and have harvested your squash too young, consider those recipes as an option. If you are looking for mature, robust tasting squash, with a dense color and flavor, it is all about patience.

In Hawaii, squash takes a lot longer on the vine than in other zones. The cooling trade winds maintain temperatures that rarely rise above 80 degrees in upcountry and upper 80’s in lower altitudes. For squash, this is very mild. In California, for example, we worked harvesting heirloom pumpkins in the lower 100’s; somewhere around 110 degrees. Pumpkins are durable, but as harvesters, we felt vulnerable.

When I first started harvesting the squash that I had grown in Hawaii, I did not know when to pick it. Through my research, I found an interesting bit of information from Naples, Italy. It described a technique where fruits were “cured” in the sun for 10-14 days, then moved to the shade for storage. I followed this recommendation religiously. It shocked people to learn that I had waited a full month before presenting these squash to chefs. My further experiments in aging squash brought them to optional flavor. A month or sometimes two months of aging created depth of flavor, and intensified flesh color that plated beautifully. I learned this by eating squash every day, cutting open both perfect, and damaged squash to study what is going on inside, and topping that off with reading online.

So back about the curing. Hawaiian landrace/heirloom varieties of kabocha squash are not necessarily orange or yellow. Many are greenish black, and they will remain that way from beginning to harvest.  Try to look past the color, and more to the duration of time, and the skin appearance. A young fruit will shine with a glossy glow. Think of the Summer zucchini in the markets. If you take your thumbnail, and gently press, you can easily make an indent in the skin. You want to utilize this strategy when you first begin harvesting squash in Hawaii or other tropical zones. Some simple rules are that shiny, skin that you can indent with your nail means it is too soon to harvest.

What you will be looking for is a duller surface. Think paint finishes here: Glossy, semigloss, and matte. Make sure not to harvest at the glossy stage and focus on the other two stages. When you do harvest, do not break off the stems. Leave a couple inches of stem to dry on the pumpkin. This is like a “piko” or belly button for the pumpkin. Many of the squash that do not store properly were inadvertently damaged by the grower by removing the stem, which makes them vulnerable to an interior rot in tropical places. This is quite true in tropical and subtropical places, and more flexible in places where squash cure in the field. In general, I recommend leaving a couple inches of stem, let it dry, then once dry, you can clip it further before selling the produce.

After harvesting the squash, try moving them to a sunny, but protected table or part of the field where they can sit in the sun for 10-14 days. This toughens the skin and dries the stem. Then move them to a shady spot, or a storage shed with good air circulation. I found storing them in bushel baskets was not ideal for long term storage, but good for a couple of weeks if kept dry with good air circulation. Old tables under ironwood trees were my “go to.” In wet weather, you want to make sure to check on them, roll them around and check for any soft spots, or “wounds.” Eat any damaged ones as quickly as possible, as they will not be able to be stored for as long. It goes without saying that there are a multitude of types of damage that the skins can suffer. Time and experience will teach you which ones will store, and what types of damage causes internal rot in squash.

Knowing what you grow is key with squash. Some are closer to either the melon or gourd side of the family tree. They look different, taste different, and have different possibilities for use in the kitchen. I remember the squash Sibley (Pike’s Peak) C. Maxima was a real surprise. Presenting with a golden yellow flesh, and melon like perfume that intensified if left for a month after harvest. Know it, live it, and breathe it, and make note of your findings. These unusual heirloom varieties can be marketed with great success if you understand through firsthand usage, just what makes it special, and how to bring it to its optimal flavor, and color.

companion planting, Farming, gardening, Hawaii, permaculture, Pollination, pumpkins

A field of Yellow

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Yellow flowered plants will help in your squash patch. It’s that simple. For my very first year of farming, I had no bees. I was there from dawn to dusk, and never saw any. I did have ground dwelling wasps. These wasps worked longer hours than I did, and pollinated the plants. So many instructed me to kill them, but I had a different strategy, I sought to balance the environment.

I did receive one wasp sting when I pinched one under my arm while working, but these are not a deadly or overly aggressive species. I realized that the wasps had begun using my composting planting beds as a home. After taking some time to observe, I looked up videos on how to encourage the wasps to move. It was as simple as placing a large glass mixing bowl over the hole in the ground and removing the bowl a day later. I won’t go into detail about that, but it worked perfectly. They continued to pollinate, but moved their nest elsewhere. I never got stung again, and a more balanced insect population was nurtured in the following years.

I was interested in rehabilitating this parcel, as well as making my squash prolific. I knew it was time to understand bees. I had heard that there were wild honeybee colonies in Hawaii, and I hoped that there might be some in the ranching lands nearby. I learned that bees can see the color yellow, like the squash flowers themselves, but how could I help them find this isolated squash utopia? I learned that yellow was my key planting color, and also to introduce small watering holes for the beneficial insects, toads, and lizards. This was as simple as leaving shallow trays of water near the edge of the squash patch, therefore providing food, water, and habitat as the means to attract them and keep them.

I decided that I could create a beacon of yellow by planting a variety of yellow flowering plants. The beautiful Hawaiian native plant ‘Ilima’ (Scientific name: Sida fallax. Family: Malvaceae (mallow family) were nearby, so I studied how to care for them in the book Native Planters of Old Hawaii. I planted my vines around them and left these historic beautiful native plants where they were. I was careful to consider bees and beneficial bugs of all shapes and sizes. I was going to need big flowers (squash,) small flowers (mustard both wild and domestic, tomatillo,) tall flowers (Lemon Queen sunflowers,) beneficial flowering plants (nitrogen producing pigeon pea,) and a tall heirloom variety of marigold) and of course native flowering plants (Ilima.) Together they became a glowing beacon of biodiversity, and a paradise for pollinators, especially the bees.

It wasn’t long until that bright yellow patch lured the wild honeybees. I would watch them pollinate, then fly way back to the ranching pastures over the stone fence. The wasps stayed and continued working, as did a wide variety of parasitic wasps that enjoyed the smaller blooms. Purple leaved Japanese mustard was a particularly fun addition. Not only did I love to eat the steamed leaves, I used these plants to mark the base of the squash plants. This was helpful, as my squash plants lived about two years, and the water and amendments needed to go at the base of the plant. with over a hundred vines crawling this way and that. a plant like purple mustard was easy to spot, and it would send out stalks of flowers too. I’d also plant some bean plants right there at the base of the squash too, especially my beloved lima beans, so that they would produce nitrogen, small bloomed flowers for the parasitic wasps, and of course food for people.

All of these heirloom varieties were given the opportunity to set seed after the flowers bloomed, creating an endless cycle that kept the pollinators satisfied with a year round food supply. I chose plants based on Hawaii’s growing conditions and soil needs, you may choose different flowers and plants based on your needs. Sunflowers can be tricky where I was growing, because of the high circular winds that would knock them down. Seed saving year after year produced plants that were more adapted to these winds. I chose a tall heirloom marigold from California. It was just a few inches taller than the tallest leaves on the squash, therefore being up and out of the vines so to be seen by the bees. I could go on endlessly about pigeon pea, and I often do. As a shrub, it becomes perennial in Hawaii, and it worked as a nematode fighter, windbreak, pollinator attractant, natural fertilizer, food producing plant for animal and humans, and a shelter for the birds during bad weather. With over 17 years of drought, Hawaiian Ilima plants were becoming scarce. There may also be some yellow flowered native plants in your area that you can help out, as they will also help you.

Essays and Reflections, Travel

After the Farm…

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Dear farm, garden, and culinary friends, It has been a dramatic year since I left the little farm project in Hawaii. It was shocking to stop one thing, and move onto another, especially when you don’t know what the next thing is going to be. It wasn’t entirely my choice to stop farming, but in order to write about my years of exploration, I know that I need to write from a reflective place. It also was getting too difficult to physically protect what I had worked so hard for, I’ve always felt that it was hard to keep boundaries in farming, and so few understand how hard it is to do what you do.

I miss many things, but there is a point when you have learned what you needed to learn, then it is time to go out into the world, and see what else there is, and compare notes and strategies with people all over the world. As opportunities were happening outside of my island, it opened up many connections to places around the country and the world. I began to get more inspiration from other places with rich culinary traditions, like Italy, or the giant pumpkin growers on the US mainland and in Europe. My mind began to wander, and wonder more about those pumpkins that I grew from Thailand, and Japan, Georgia and Armenia. I began to think about what their culinary traditions were, as well as how they grew them there.

My plans were to use my education and classroom experience to teach at a university in China. I was planning on continuing my culinary and agricultural research while there. As things would happen, my visa process was delayed to the point that I couldn’t make the fall semester 2019, then we know what happened next. It was deeply troubling to see China in the throws of Coronavirus. I attended to everything from seed storage in NYC to distributing family heirloom treasures to my cousins, while also attending to the many things that need to occur before you can achieve a launching platform for a life more nomadic.

The emails and social media messages poured in with the general summary being, “you can’t stop.” Although one area, the little farm, had to stop, while my research and education would not. Regardless, people were not happy with my decision to step out of Hawaii so to reflect. I didn’t know then that I would get perhaps too much reflection time due to Covid, and all of that time would be spent very alone on the other side of the planet. Mandatory lock down in Europe during Covid was both rewarding, and frightening. I bunkered down in Prague after only one month of teaching. I was barely launched into the “what’s next” when the world came to a screeching halt.

I had dreams of treating the Covid time as a government imposed writing residency, with daily writing and reflection punctuated with research. It didn’t turn out that way, as I, like so many of you, were shocked and numb. I did force a return to my writing, and I felt like a part of me again took flight. The flight path was neither steady or predictable, but it was an upward trend after a lot of what felt like nothing. Writing became one of my quarantine explorations, along with learning how to use an espresso machine to make a soy cappuccino, and watching nearly every available video in the NYPL online library catalog. I felt so far away from all that I knew, but I also have been through times like this: a time of rebirth. For as much as I wanted to be able to settle in, I needed to face other things, primarily years of grief, loss, and the anxious moments that they unleash.

As much as I wanted to pull the blankets over my head, I went forward in small steps dictated by border closures, and new regulations imposed due to the State of Emergency in the Czech Republic and beyond. I reset my worn body and mind the best I could. After 7 years of an exhaustive effort at farming, it was both foreign and awkward to force rest. My body had been rewired to be active to the point of exhaustion: a multi year exhaustion that was hard to shake free from. How does one shift from one extreme to the other? Slowly, and with patience.

I have allowed myself to sleep, eat, and watch lots of films. I’ve allowed myself to return to a more reflective state that I had before switching from garden research to commercial farm. I’ve given myself time to process long held grief.

Along the way, words began to appear. Thoughts and reflections on life both on the farm, as well as life as seen through my travels were emerging. I began to give myself the time to remember. The time to walk, look, recall, and occasionally that would become a small spark of a dream. I found myself facing off with fears that I thought had gone away. In the long pauses and silence of Covid, they had been shaken free. As I processed memories, some nightmares emerged out of the darkness.

At times I relished in being a hermit, by simply enjoying the great luxury of being safe, healthy and free, all while being tucked into a tiny historic flat. When anxious moments arose, I’d put on my mask and walk to the grocery store: fixating upon labels printed in a variety of Slavic languages that I couldn’t read. The labels were a visual depiction of the distance that I felt in my heart. I found hope in well stocked shelves and strangers.

My days grew busy with research into where I could go, and when. Where could I teach? Where could I enter? Would a Czech visa come to pass? The data changed frequently, leaving weeks to be filled with little more than statistics and analysis.

At some point, I decided that I need to stop planning, as the plans all fell through. One entire year of plans fell like dominoes. With Covid, any and every plan seemed hard to pull off. The second visa that I had worked to achieve was falling out of my grasp. My security documents for teaching were expiring, and borders remained closed. I found a neighbor who was in the same situation. She too could no longer get her work visa processed, and the EU needed her and I to exit. A solidarity occurred when I needed it most. We both had to take the plunge away from our plans, and into the unknown. She took a bus to a new country; I took the night train.

I’m now five weeks into that unknown, and my future is no more certain now as it was then. One thing that did emerge was the practice of writing. I’ve tried to make writing a top priority. On more days than not, writing is my only priority. It is something that no matter what the future holds, I will never regret doing it. In a time when planning doesn’t help, looking at moments, one page at a time, gives shape to an otherwise blurry time in our history.

I feel as if my writing is something that I need to defend, like I once did with my art. It threatens people, rattling them in such a way that they make uncaring remarks, and interrupt when you’ve asked them not to. After months of being alone and silent, I’m now fighting off people who only want to talk enough so to dampen my work. When I asked a pushy neighbor why writing isn’t valued as work, I received a blank stare followed by a trail of their own insecurities. My question remained unanswered. Writing takes time, focus, and discipline. I’m finding it also takes courage and strength. You are making yourself both vulnerable to attack, and empowered all at once.

We will see what happens during these next weeks of writing and reflecting during these uncertain times. I’ll continue to revamp the old website, while writing away in my notebook and online. Just know that you all are not forgotten, your kind words have given me strength to stand up and speak about my experiences time and time again. It perhaps goes without saying that when I had to leave the Czech Republic, I left for a country with a notable squash production. I may be a long way away, and traveling on a sometimes dark and winding road, but I’m the same girl who remains fascinated with these fat fruits. Rest assured, my friends, that as autumn approaches, I will have squash in my sights.

Essays and Reflections

A Look at Life

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It is the new year, and I am enjoying watching the world around me, as it grows, and comes to life. January is an interesting time in upcountry Hawaii. Cool, misty rains will be followed by bright sun and high winds. It is our “wet season” where many vining plants will stretch out their arms, and cover their surroundings.

I often make a lot of comfort food in these cooler days. The slow cooker is often on, and jars of soaked seeds come to life on my countertop. It is a wonderful time to make these warm, slow cooked meals, and use the ambient heat to germinate those seeds who need a little more warmth. Heating pads could be used, but then I wouldn’t have the slow cooked soups. Tomato, bean, and chili pepper seeds will get this jump start germination, right before my eyes. I feel again like a child, as I spy on secret worlds in every corner of the pond, garden, and kitchen.

Mexico Midget Heirloom tomato seeds germinate in a simple jar

The greenhouse also wakes up for another season. A Japanese White Eye bird was found in there, and seemed eager for my assistance. Once freed outdoors, it quickly returned to feeding on the young banana blooms. Orchids also bloom, and multiply, and my aquarium guppies, will be freed into the flowing waters of the aquaponics system. Appearing like embers of red, flashing inside the glass vessel. I paused for a moment to take one last close look, before releasing them into a much larger place for them to explore.

Work is everywhere. Planting, and collecting. Repotting, and pruning. Full days, and cozy nights of Winter reading. I don’t even bother to make lists of what needs to be done. At this time of year, everything needs to be done, and every task completed is something to celebrate.

A beautiful Japanese White Eye
pumpkins, Travel, Uncategorized

Paddling Pumpkins in Kasterlee, Belgium

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A pumpkin regatta is something to behold.  Since very few life skills seem to transfer to paddling a pumpkin, the experience might best be described as character building. I crossed Europe in seach of the pumpkin adventures of the Flanders region in Belgium. In the process, I was humbled by their passion for pumpkin, and what the people inspired in me.

I learned of the Kasterlee regatta while in Italy.  It seemed like a very long way to go so to see pumpkins, but something drew me to witness this event.  Soon after learning of it, I found myself justifying my potential trans-Europe journey, as well as the supporting thought process, to virtual strangers.  I was getting a bit defensive. Why wouldn’t I cross four countries so to watch pumkins filled with people bob like apples?  What seemed like the most compelling argument, ended up being about Belgians themselves.  Often thought of as quiet and conservative by their neighbors, who knew that the Belgians of Flanders, would lovingly hollow out giant pumpkins, dress in funny costumes, then be rather impressive competitors?  They even train for it. It made even the most skeptic listener nod in agreement.  It just might be something to see, and perhaps they might join me.  The Italians were even a bit jealous that this regatta would pull me away from their own festivals.  I vowed to return to Italy, but for now, I was making the trip very far North from Naples to Ludwigsburg, then onwards to Antwerpen, and finally, Kasterlee.

It seemed that we all wanted to see Belgians tuck themselves neatly into cucurbits, then paddle like mad.  It also appeared I had discovered a secret Belgian lifestyle that the world did not yet know about.  I was going, period.

This event would complete a month long celebration in Kasterlee.  Previous to this, there were farm tours, pumpkin themed menus, and more.  A website featured toddlers playing among giant, still on the vine, pumpkins, in a magical scene straight out of storybooks.

Belgium is also a global contender for giant pumpkin growing.  They are frequently #1 in Europe, receiving the award in Ludwigsburg, Germany.  This just happened to be one of those years.  The “big boys” of pumpkins had headed out of Ludwigsburg one week prior to my visit there.  These pumpkins were taken on tour, and also back home for local celebrations.  I was happy to find myself face-to-pumpkin with the European champion right there at the regatta.  Sitting beside it on the flatbed trailer was the record holding squash. I got goosebumps, as this alone would justify the journey as “pumpkin research.”

Yes, research.  It was all in the name of research.  Someone had to collect these experiences, make note of these cultural traditions.  It might as well be me.   I could share this information, and in the process inspire others to “up their pumpkin game.” Why not stir up a bit of squash rivalry between the European nations, as well as with the rival US pumpkin growers “across the pond.”

Arriving at the regatta was a little more challenging than I expected.  Being held in a tiny pond, at 9:30 am, on a Sunday, in a small village, next to Kasterlee made the whole experience memorable.  Let’s just say, that by the end of the day, I walked over 3 hours to take me to and from the event.  I navigated busses, trains, and walked a long way to be there.  I am a big fan of struggling a bit for such experiences.  It clears my mind, and makes me realize just how much passion and drive I have in me.  So I walked…and walked some more.

The wonderful thing about walking, is that it allows me to spy into the late Autumn gardens.  It had dropped to below one degree celsius, in Belgium, and now the cold was joined by a powerful wind.  A brisk walk was welcomed.  I watched the frost melt along the way. It was a powerful change from Southern Italy, or from my home in Hawaii.  I reminded myself to enjoy it.

I was beginning to question if I had read the map right.  I was getting a bit worried that I would miss this “outside of the town” pond.  Then, I saw the first of many handpainted signs that would direct me to this special little place.  I would find it.  That alone inspired my walk that had turned into a hike.

By the time I reached the regatta, I realized that I was walking with enough confidence, that others thought I knew where I was going.  I turned around to find a small group of couples, children and their parents, and even a few farm dogs walking behind me.  I was guilty of pretending to understand Dutch, by nodding, and pointing at the signs, and striding onwards.    Eventually, we saw that a field was filled with cars, and the distant mumble of a voice on a mega phone could be heard.  We had arrived.

I know what I was expecting, I was planning on seeing the races.  The struggle of competition.  Silly costumes, and rivals.  Instead, I found beauty.  I found stillness, light, poetic movements, and sculpture.  I saw a surreal play of light, and form.  I did not see that coming, but the regatta seemed like a dreamscape to me.  It was the calm and quiet that inspired me to continue to stand with wet boots at the edge of the water, for hours. It was the way that the pumpkins themselves looked more like sculpture than boats. They were already unique natural forms, and with the creative hands of the villagers, they were transformed into something else.  I was smitten.

Maybe it was the long hike, the cold, the exhaustion, but the tranquillity drew me more than the competition.  It was the event helpers, all were local kayakers, that stood in knee, or waist deep water, that became my focus.  For hours, they turned these giant forms, and spun them across the light that was dancing on water. I was reminded of the poetry of man and nature.

The races were won and lost, the families gathered, cheered, and celebrated.  I was calm and quiet and contemplative.  More than anything, I was grateful that this event, of all places, could return me to a quieter side of myself.  Travel does that, if you let it.  It can shake loose bits of ourselves that get lost in the day-to-day.  So to the people of Kasterlee, thank you.  Your dedication to your craft, reminded me of my own.  That is a gift that I will remember you for.  To the people of Flanders, dank u zeer.

Essays and Reflections, Travel

On the Edge of an Italian Town

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I tell time by the church bells, reminding me of where I am in the day, as I no longer worry about getting lost in time, or in the space that surrounds me.  I walk to the edge of Orsara, where “up the hill” is Orsara, and “down the hill” is not.  So I walk downhill until I am tired, then judge how much I must save for the walk back up the mountain.  “hai camminato da Orsara?” or something like that, is said to me with concern.  I judge that this is not common.  I hear cars approaching behind blind curves.  I cross back and forth to safety.  A road sign warns of slow tractors on the hill ahead, but it doesn’t warn about me.  Between passing cars, I study the moss on the trees, the wild edible greens along the road.  The flavorful weeds.  I marvel at the borage, in full bloom in a drainage ditch.

I listen to the water rushing somewhere near, then the wind that drives the turbines, blowing in powerful surges.  Everything is growing, including the stones.  In a moment of fatigue, I contemplate the amount of life along the expanses of freshly turned soil.  The dark earth smells of rain.  I step onto the shoulder of the road, and my shoes sink in.  The earth holds every drop.

Animals run toward me, greeting me with nervous excitement.  A kitten flirts with big green eyes, and an inner motor so strong that it nearly makes him stumble.  I pick him up and judge that he is well fed, a little belly silhouetted by the sun’s rays.   I pass the orchards, and vineyards, and small piles of spent grapes.  Olive trees that defy pruning, and chili peppers that grow just beyond the wooden gate.

Today, I look for the quiet stones, the stones moved from the fields.  The ancient ones that were once here where the plows have churned the soil.  They were carried to the edges, by men, wagons, and donkeys.  Stoic now, in small pillars. Monuments to time.

Essays and Reflections, pumpkins, Travel

Orsara di Puglia: A Culinary Adventure

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I have again returned to this place, in the rolling Southern mountains of Italy.  This mix of medieval and modern, tradition and change.  Surrounded by wind turbines, but grounded in stone.  My culinary adventure is quiet, and makes me content.  Entire days and nights have been spent before plates of food.  Nine courses can be the norm.

I walk most days, in quiet contemplation verging on exhaustion.  The village is comprised of rolling hills and alleys of stone.  Narrow, cool and quiet, surrounded by stone on three sides, sometimes four.  The 20% grade on the local hills will burn those calories away, making the long evening meal well earned.

Essays and Reflections, Travel

Days and Nights in Orsara

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In a room in Antwerp, in the diamond district, writing about the past. The nights have turned cold enough to see my breath, as I reflect on the days behind me.  In the chaos of travel, I change languages every few hours.  My mind is exhausted, and does not reset to the new country, the new friend, the change in language.  I am a country, and a language behind.  Speaking in French, Italian, or German to the Flemish Belgians who would rather I just spoke in English.  I walk so to clear my mind, and get some thoughts down on paper. I walk until I am tired, then write until my eyes close.

How do you summarize the days behind, when each one was so rich.  New people, ideas, patterns.  Landcapes flash before my eyes in memory, like scenes from the train window. I try to focus on one hour, of one day, in one place.  My heart remained in Puglia, even though the rest of me went to Germany. I just wanted to stay, to press my hands and face against the cold stone that makes the place. It felt like an ancestral connection, like the stones of Inis Mein.  In Orsara, homes, and walls, and footpaths are quietly reabsorbed by nature. A farmer’s efforts temporarily reclaim man’s order, but when Spring arrives, vines and trees will again crawl through stone, claiming victory.

At night, while others slept, I walked into the night to watch the moon, as the twinkling festival lights in the village shown in blue arches upon stone. I would stay until I shivered, then stay some more.  A wild dog greeted me as if it knew me, as if I was returning home. It would sit as I gently pet it’s face in the quiet of the night.  I remember Clinton the sheepdog on the Aran Islands, as he followed me upon my return to that place. The locals peered from stone framed windows, and green painted doors, wondering why this dog seemed to be mine.  It is a mysterious thing, why animals react as they do.  Do they see something that is beyond our sight? Do they know that we want to love them if given the chance? As I prepared to leave Orsara, the gardener stopped before me with mouth agape, as I pet the wild dog beneath the rain.

I get comfortably lost in quiet.  Though my days are spent struggling to speak, to convey my ideas in another language, and at times, in any language. I’d rather simply look, or stare with admiration, and breathe it all in.  Sometimes, the other senses take over in a tumbling labyrinth of scent, sight, and touch.  I turn down the volume until someone asks for a response. At times, I am guilty of just watching the Italians lips move, of watching language form beneath their dark eyes, with words bubbling like prosecco. So what do you do with this sweet place where a chestnut horse breathed you in, and geese sneak sweet grass out of your fingertips through the gap in the fence? Where hours were spent contemplating cheese, and nights seemed to go on for days.  Where language flooded you like a song whose words you didn’t quite know, yet it nearly makes you cry.

 

 

 

 

Essays and Reflections, pumpkins, Travel

Transforming the Giants

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In Ludwigsburg Germany, the home of the European Giant Pumpkin Championship, one might think that the competition is simply “winner takes all,” but think again. These other giants undergo a transformation that will leave you speechless.

DSC_0789I had planned to arrive at Bluhendes Barock, this past Sunday, to watch international sculptors transform giant pumpkins into works of art, but I just couldn’t wait.  I decided to go to the festival a day early, so to visit the selected pumpkins before they were paired with an artist.

I wasn’t the only one with this strategy.  These now accessable giant pumpkins were set out in the gardens, offering a perfect photo opportunity for admiring fans.  The pumpkin growers had elected to donate these giant pumpkins for the artists to work with. A fair amout of diversity was represented in the pumpkins themselves, both in their genetics, and from where they came from.  The invited artists also came from many different locations: France, Germany, Switzerland and Russia were all represented.

On Sunday, I walked through the leaf filled paths of the Bluhendes Barock gardens, to see the sculptors at work. I quietly admired the athletic actions of these sculptors. They would have only one day to complete these monumental works, so every minute would count.  As much as I tried to stay quiet, several of the artists noticed that my admiration exceeded that of most visitors.  Perhaps it was the fact that I took over 100 photos, and I continued to watch for hours.   I was fortunate that several of the artists offered me some of their precious work time so to welcome me, and gave me an inside look at what it takes to be a pumpkin sculptor.  I passed them my business card, filled with images of pumpkins, and instant friendships were made. I told them that I was visiting them from Hawaii, and that it was well worth the trip.

Jeroen van de Vlag of Siebnen, Switzerland, spoke to me about the sand sculptures that decorated the palace grounds, as well as the pumpkin creature he was currently carving. He had created some of the elaborate sand sculptures in the formal palace gardens, back in July.  I had marveled at them the day before, and now, even more so, after learning that they had already been outdoors, on display, for three full months of autumn weather.  The day prior, I had admired the pumpkin sculpture, but I did not immediately recognize that it was made of sand.  What initally caught my eye, was the collection of Long Island Cheese, and Crown pumpkins that decorated the base, then I noticed that the pumpkin sculpture was not cast, but rather an ephemeral work of sand.

Jeroen and I spoke about his life as a travelling sculptor, of ice, fruit, and of sand, before he returned to work on his design. Earlier in the day, a little boy asked the name of his pumpkin creature, and Jeroen named the creature after the little boy. In the process, perhaps another pumpkin sculptor was born.

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The work of Jeroen van de Vlag, of Siebnen, Switzerland

I moved on to the next sculpture, as the artist, Larissa Bohrkircher, worked intensely on a very different pumpkin face.  As she worked, visitors noticibly cheered her on.  She worked on a pumpkin which clearly reflected this year’s festival theme of “the forest.”

I took a good look at the tools of the trade, as well as the different techniques the artists were using to make these reductive sculptures.  I saw various knives, exacto blades, pruning saws, and also sculpting tools normally used in ceramics.  Because of the scale, I also noticed a shovel, pitchfork, and the large bin, containing what was cleaned out of the pumpkins earlier that day. The names of the pumpkin growers were also on display, for they had generously donated their farm treasures for all to enjoy

I have to admit, I wanted to get in on the action, especially after a delightful exchange with Galina Faletra, a Russian born artist, who now resides, and carves in nearby Stuttgart. She was working on a large creature who made everyone smile.  She explained to me that she had a new baby, indicating towards the happy face in the nearby stroller. This busy mom did double duty, caring for her baby, as she sculpted a pumpkin creature. I had to smile, thinking that her child will have incredibly high expectations for their Halloween decorations in the years ahead, and I am sure Galina will lovingly exceed those wishes.

Then I saw another crowd gathering as a lanky, contemplative artist returned to her work.  She studied the movement of a dragon that curled around the giant pumpkin.  She stood back for a good, long look, before stepping in to further reduce the form.  As the light played with the shadows, she seemed to be judging how best to bring this dragon into the late afternoon light. Corina Lampropoulos was in her zone.

When viewing sculpture, all sides are considered, and Corina was working on bringing the tail of the dragon into focus.  Many viewers were happy to see the unexpected dragon pumpkin.  I heard the German word for dragon, drachen, said with delight.  I immediately liked this artist’s style,  as she created the unexpected with an athleticism mixed with grace.

A man stopped by to comment on Corina’s successful sculpture.  I gathered from the pumpkin cuttings that covered him from head to toe, that he must be the artist from France, Benoit Dutherage.  They posed for a few photos before both artists returned to thier pumpkins.  Several of the people I met that day had mentioned that I should meet Dutherage.  He had worked hard to get his sculpture near completion, before stepping away.  He was now returning, with “fresh eyes” to complete his work.  Benoit displayed a photo of a sleeping infant, that was now also seen carved before us.

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Benoit Dutherage, at the completion of his sculpture

The scale of Dutherage’s work was impressive.  It wasn’t until he returned to his sculpture that you fully appreciated the monumental work.  You could now see how huge the pumpkin was, when compared to a full grown man.  He stepped forward to speak to me about sculpture, contests, and the challenges of creating large scale work within one day.  We spoke of inspiration, style, and artistic expression before he excused himself so to change his clothes before the judging.  I tried to convice him otherwise, as I thought the sculptor’s clothing told a story.

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The day’s work was clearly seen on the clothes of Benoit Dutherage of France

As Dutherage stepped away, so did I, because it was judging time, and I felt that it was best to be impartial.  Each of these artists had shared a bit of themselves with me today, and I respected each of them, and their works.  I did not have a favorite, but was inspired by all.  As I returned to the pumpkin carving garden, the announcer climbed above the crowd to announce the winners.  The crowd hushed so to hear the results. Larissa Bohrkircher’s name was announced as the 2018 sculpture winner.  She smiled, blushed, and waved to the fans.

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I congratulated Larissa, as she offered a broad smile and a thank you.  The crowds gathered again, to photograph her and her work.  I was pleased to watch as the artists congratulated, and complemented each other’s work.  It was clear that they were supportive of each other. I offered my own words of praise to the artists before I left. We exchanged waves, and handshakes, and kisses on both cheeks.  As I walked away, I was given the opportunity to collect three giant pumpkin seeds for a friend. For me, as a grower, the action had even a greater significance.  This sharing of seeds was the perfect way to share the creativity, magic, and inspiration that transpired that day.

the pursuit of pumpkin