it's an itchy jungle out there

I've nicknamed the Handyman's giant pumpkin plant Gertrude.

It's not a common name. I like it. And the giant pumpkin is not a common pumpkin.



Or maybe it is. But what I look at in the middle of the handyman's yard seems anything but common. It's giant. It's graceful. And it looks like it will eat me if I fall asleep in the yard on an especially sunny afternoon. On a cloudy one she might just nibble at my elbow, but if it's sunny, this tasty morsel is heading inside for naptime.



When I am brave enough to venture among her vines and look for new pumpkins, I can't help but think that there is a delicate fairy world waiting underneath those serving platter leaves that are poised perfectly parallel above the ground.



It makes me wish I were three years old and small enough to spend the afternoons crawling around under there. And then I remember that pumpkins really are itchy. And that Gertrude might eat me.