He Wants to Pumpkin You Up
Sure, there are obstacles. For one, I’ve never grown anything in my life, with the exception of the time I spit watermelon seeds into what must have been some particularly fertile dirt, and found the very earliest stages of a watermelon plant a few months later. Unfortunately, despite giddy visions of watermelons popping through my front lawn until it looked like a lot full of VW Beetles, an early frost, along with the lack of any maintenance on my part, put an end to my accidental gardening.
Given that, I realize the hopes of my growing a pumpkin larger than a Whiffle ball are probably slim. But what I do have going for me is the proper motivation, the same motivation that has spurred on amateur gardeners for centuries. Yes, that’s right, pumpkin envy.
Pumpkin envy reaches its heights around this time every year, when the Topsfield Fair rolls into town. The Topsfield Fair is known for a lot of things — that nice elephant in the foot manacles comes to mind — but primarily for its pumpkins, which on average are larger than most dwellings in the Saugus Mobile Home Park.
Now, if you’ve ever failed at growing something — say, something like tomatoes, which other people seem to have popping out of their gardens at such an alarming rate that they’ve resorted to pushing them on everyone they know, then on complete strangers, then sending them anonymously to the Ragu corporation — then you know the feeling of inadequacy that comes with viewing a 1,000-pound pumpkin. This despite the fact that the vast majority of them look nothing like pumpkins, or at least nothing like pumpkins that haven’t been exposed to nuclear radiation. You half expect them to come to life and devour Cleveland.
Still, it’s hard not to aspire to that kind of gardening greatness, since the Topsfield Fair proves beyond any doubt that we Americans are the best pumpkin growers in the world. If you don’t believe me, consider this: In Japan, the winner of the national pumpkin contest weighed in at a measly 331.6 kilograms. This translates into a certain number of pounds that I’m quite sure is less than 1,000, and I plan to confirm that if and when America finally adopts the metric system.
Then there are the people of Germany, who are currently hosting "Cleopatra’s Mysterious World of Pumpkins." This pumpkin-centered event draws over 400,000 visitors from all over the world, even beyond the thousands of Germans killing time until the "Baywatch" reunion. But it turns out the centerpiece of this event isn’t a pumpkin the size of Stuttgart, as you might expect, but rather a 45-foot-high pumpkin pyramid. If you’re having trouble picturing this, just imagine a pumpkin display as designed by a Shaw’s employee on amphetamines.
So as you can see, you have to come to America — specifically, Topsfield — to find a truly huge pumpkin. And the best part is, the pumpkin contest is so straightforward; it doesn’t leave lingering questions like all those other Topsfield Fair events. (For instance, how many sheep do you have to avoid if you’re doing the sheep obstacle course? Or, is it ethical to dress up llamas in costumes you don’t find on llamas in nature? Or, who thought "Stuart the 9-foot Rabbit" might be something that would send children into peals of joyous laughter, rather than running screaming behind the Cattle Building?)
No, pumpkins are the thing for me, and hopefully by next year’s fair you’ll see my 1,000-pounder on display alongside the other entries. Meanwhile, if you need me, I’ll be spitting pumpkin seeds on my lawn.