Talk about the Great Pumpkin! 

Hubby and I are having a contest to see who can grow the biggest and best pumpkin to enter in the Ashtabula County Fair.

Faithful readers will recall I get great joy out of entering our garden vegetables, flowers and roosters (crowing contest). 

I’m a good winner and enjoy a little friendly competition. 

Hubby also enters garden veggies, and frequently brings home prizes for canned goods, as well.

Even so, every year he reminds me that HE does the majority of the planting, weeding and watering. 

So, two years ago, when I won a big blue ribbon for the best pumpkin, Hubby said, “That should be my ribbon. That was my pumpkin!”

I reminded him that the day before the fair, I peruse the gardens, pick the the best vegetables and flowers, label all the entries and place them in specific containers for judging. Then I transport all of the entries to the fairgrounds. After the fair, I gather up all my stuff and take them home.

This is a lot of work and he doesn’t recognize it. 

Two weeks ago, I made an announcement that this year I would be in charge of my own pumpkins — planting, growing, watering and picking.

Hubby scoffed.

A few days later, the Amazon truck delivered my pumpkin growing kit. 

Hubby scoffed.

“You think you can beat me with a pumpkin growing kit?” he said. “No way!”

I ignored him and followed the directions on the box to the tee. 

Ten or so days later, they sprouted. I was so excited.

Hubby scoffed.

Next thing I knew he was planting seeds he garnered from last year’s bumper crop {which we couldn’t enter because COVID-19 squashed the fair).

The next day, I placed my sprouts on a south-side window ledge.

When my sprouts were about an inch high, Hubby placed his tiny sprouts in the dining room window nook, where Delightful Granddaughter’s cat, Bailey, likes to sun herself.

Guess who discovered she likes pumpkin plants? That’s right — Bailey.

While we slept, she nibbled most of Hubby’s plants down to a nub.

Boy! Was he mad!

He threatened to poison poor kitty. When I objected, he threatened to set mouse traps around the perimeter of his plants.

Then, topping all his past craziness, he said, “YOU taught the cat to eat my plants!” 

I laughed but he seemed serious, delusional even.

“I have proof,” he charged. “My plants are eaten, yours are not.”

“I put my plants on a window sill too narrow for the cat to jump up on,” I smugly said.

He stomped off. Next thing I knew, he was grabbing framed photos from around the house and setting them up around his plants. Then he draped a large piece of mesh cloth over them. 

“I think that will keep the cat from eating my plants,” he said, sounding more reasonable.

But I didn’t like the way he was eyeing my perfect pumpkin plants, now a good 5 inches taller than his ... 

Stay tuned faithful readers for continued coverage of this race for the prized pumpkin.

 

Staff writer Shelley Terry is pumped for pumpkins at the fair, we’re hoping Hubby doesn’t squash her dreams.

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