The post-prandial talk around the Thanksgiving dinner table is a good time for stories and my late great-uncle Bob was no slouch in that area.
Survival against the odds, close encounters with hairy wildlife and the odd skirmish with depression-era baseball players were all in his repertoire.
The stories changed slightly over the years – a development that I have since noted is a family trait – but his delight in telling them was just as entertaining as the stories themselves.
This week’s page 18 story about the annual Great White North Pumpkin Fair and Weigh-off tipped the memory scales about Uncle Bob. So did another story in last week’s issue that discussed a potential 1,000 pound pumpkin in Roland, Man.
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Both articles show how the raising of giant garden produce can garner the grower some real, if fleeting, fame.
So it was for Uncle Bob. He did all the right things.
He bought special giant pumpkin seed. He lived in Vancouver’s temperate climate, which pumpkins are said to love. He nurtured and babied his pumpkin. He avoided the potential scourges of downy mildew, blight, white mould and bacterial fruit spot.
He erected a shade tarp. He gave it fertilizer. He pinched its blossoms and vines to ensure the full benefit of the plant system went into one carefully chosen fruit.
He named it Gord. He fed it milk through a straw.
Wait a minute, I might have that last part mixed up with another Uncle Bob story about veal calves. What was I saying earlier about stories getting revised over time?
But I digress, just as Uncle Bob sometimes did. The point is that his summer-long efforts yielded a massive garden inhabitant that dwarfed everything nearby. It was bright orange and creamy peach on most of its misshapen body and cross-hatched with green along its base.
And yes, Uncle Bob and the pumpkin both got their pictures in a Vancouver newspaper, side by side, and the photo was, in due course, sent out to relatives in less pumpkin friendly climates.
On page 18 this week, pumpkin growing champion Archie Lingl says he can show anyone how to grow a pumpkin, but if Uncle Bob’s stories are to be believed, Lingl is being politely modest.
Nevertheless, next year I hope to get myself some seed and see if remembered advice from Uncle Bob and tips from kindly readers will yield a pumpkin big enough to land a picture in the paper.
First thing I’ll do is name it Gord.
