it's the great pumpkin charlie brown...and from our perspective, it has been great...

If the great Canadian pastime is complaining about weather (and it is), it's been a great year to be a Canadian passing time with complaints.  Weather casters and their critics have been referring to the clement months of 2009 as the 'summer that wasn't.'  There is some truth to that: it wasn't scorching...it wasn't humid...it wasn't all the things we all usually delight in complaining about in the brief weeks where there is no hockey.  (And in our neck of the woods, where we adore Jim Balsillie, where there is something in Toronto that the TimBits league would laugh at, hockey remains a distant possiblity....)

To paraphrase Snoopy (one of the great literary minds of our time), it was a dark and stormy summer.  The skies opened, the air cooled....

Even so, the growing season is what you make of it.
And this year, we did a little experiment....with pumpkins.
Our soil is mostly clay.  We've been dumping in peat moss and triple mix and PC Black Earth and manure in the hope of coaxing the yards into something productive.  The results are mixed, but it is kind of fun.

So when my sweet friend Pam and I got to talking last spring, it occurred to me that pumpkins might be a really good idea.  They throw down good roots (which help to break up clay)...they send forth winding vines (reminiscent of those grown by the Gruesomes in Bedrock, but not so effective at deterring the neighbours who park on the lawn....)...and there's always a chance at something to harvest.

So armed with a package of seeds, a hose, manure and optimism, I sallied forth some time in half past June.  It was a little late, but again, it was a rookie adventure in urban farming.

In went the seeds....

Up came some shoots...

And then - miracle of miracles - blossoms.  A bunch of blossoms.

My sweet neighbour Carrie and I considered them...at length...pondering whether they'd become delicacies for Rascal and Bandit over time. But the blossoms continued. 

The raccoons left them alone (really, they prefer cat chow and bananas) and over the course of the summer, the blossoms continued.  We did get expert advice suggesting that pinching the blossoms would promote better and larger fruit.  We took it under advisement...and left the vines to blossom.  They were lovely. 

In time, we started to notice that the vines were looking shrivelled...but that proved to be a good thing.  Lurking under those spindly shoots were tiny little pumpkins. 

The one in the garden became a buffet.  While we blamed Rascal and Bandit, we came to discover that the gourd gourmet was, in fact, Awesome the Possum.  He enjoyed it regularly over many weeks.  With luck, he's left some seeds that will return next year.

The one near the bird bath remained ungnoshed...as did the one near the driveway (mercifully, unsquished while the neighbour was doing NASCAR maneuvers over the lawn). 

The sweet neighbour (smile and wave, Miss Carrie, smile and wave) suggested leaving the sweet little globes where they grew.  While they are too small for pies or Jack-o-Lanterns, they might prove ideal for reseeding.  She makes a good point...

The experiment has been a success and it was fun to watch over the course of the summer.  We can't carve Junior, but that's okay.

We went up to the dairy farm at the top of Hwy 5 - Sutland Holsteins - and bought Junior some friends.  This way, when he drops seeds over the winter, he'll know what he's aiming for next year.

things you begin to ponder when your friends begin appearing in the obituaries...

For as long as I can recall, my parents (and grandparents) have been newspaper subscribers. I remember my Grandpa Hastings reading the comics to us when we were little (which sure gives you the idea that reading - and papers - are fun).  I also remember my parents reading the classified section - occasionally known as the hatched, matched and dispatched.  We've often joked that if we're not named in the departures column, we might as well carry on and go to work.

Late last week, on of my favourite colleauges from the college posted a message on his Facebook site noting he'd lost a dear friend.  I posted a message of condolence to him, but as the details surfaced, he and I realized we had a 'six degrees of separation' circumstance.  His friend of more than 15 years was my friend from high school.  And so the process of finding others who needed to know (so as not to be surprised after the fact - which happens too often) began for us both in wide and different circles that met a little in the middle.  We'll likely see each other later today at the funeral home.

But the loss of any one of us only makes sense in the context of the connection you shared with that individual and the adventures you enjoyed.

George was one of my favourite free spirits who moved among distinct and seemingly disconnected groups.  He was witty...and charming...quick thinking and quick speaking in one of those ways where the rapid quips always made sense.  He was gentle with others: I don't recall him ever saying an unkind thing about anyone.  How often can any of us say that.

He was the high school president championed by geeks and football players. He was a talented photographer.  He was a smart man - as street smart as he ever was book smart - who was content to just be rather than do.  I don't recall him ever saying he wanted to 'be' something at the end of his studies.  What he was, however, was a lot of things to a lot of different people.

One of my favourite road trips was one I made with George, our friend Ed, and a girl one of them was sort of dating.  I can't honestly recall which of the guys it was, but she didn't last long. I was the fourth to even out the group.  We often did that.

We drove to Buffalo to see -- wait for it -- The Jacksons.  It was a terrific show although it gave us a first taste of what it was like to be a minority in a crowd (not a bad lesson, might I add).  It was loud and fun and a great story to tell earlier this summer when Michael Jackson also made a surprise departure.

As many of us were chatting yesterday, we all talked about how easy it is to fall out of touch. How long it had been since we last talked - never mind saw each other - and we hope to do this more frequently, so we aren't making the rounds of calls the next time somebody we've loved leaves us.  With luck, we'll keep that promise to ourselves.

Oddly enough, George's was one of the yearbook quotes I always remembered.  I don't know why.  It was a quote from the Grass Roots song: Sooner or later, love is gonna get you.

George was actually the object of many girls' affections when we were younger.  Smart girls, pretty girls, popular girls.  He was deft - and kind - about rebuffing them. He appreciated their interest, but wasn't keen to get caught I suspect.  From the number of devoted folks who seem to be feeling George's loss, it looks like love did get him and carried him along.  I sure hope so...
Later today, I'm going to put that song on my iPod and when it plays, I'm going to remember my friend George.  Then, I'm going to call and email some of the others just for good measure.


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