Save the Squashes

It started back in springtime, with all the crates of filled peat pots lined up on the heated walkout basement floor. My job was to poke the fat little squash seeds into the damp starting soil, covering them up so they could dream of germinating. Then, later, up peeked the vibrant green stems with baby leaves, hoping to find sunlight.

With care, we carried the crates outside to tables in the yard, then back inside at night to keep them safe from the still chilly temperatures. Back and forth, back and forth each day. It added nearly an hour to my chore-time!

With the ground prepared and mulch from old first-crop hay spread like a fibrous carpet, it was planting time. Down on our hands and knees for days, digging holes and stuffing plants, patting the damp, fragrant earth around them. After that, it was up to the plants to make the most out of summer’s heat, rain, sunshine, and the compost-rich soil.

Last year was quite the battle with the deer in the garden, so this year we tried a new strategy, lining the rim of the garden with old round bales of hay, then sticking our electric mesh fence on top. This turned our 4-foot barrier into an 8-foot one, with the added benefit of the strong physical nature of the stalwart hay bales at ground level. I’m looking for something wooden to knock on because, so far, this has been working. I’ve even seen much less rabbit activity in the garden—another plus.

Well, the squash plants were so happy in their home that they grew and grew and grew right up the sides of the bale wall! Each week, I’d have to walk around the edge and train them to go back down and stay in the garden. In just a matter of days, the situation would go from orderly to vines 4-feet long stretching through and tangling their tendrils in the fencing. I mean, seriously squash, you don’t want to be eaten!

But the squash-growing days on our farm are now over. With several frosts under our belts, the leaves are blackened and limp, leaving the fruits bare. The other night, more frosts were coming but not enough time for harvesting, so out came the small army of Agribon frost covers we keep in the former playhouse, loaded in our arms like a parade of helpful mice from Cinderella. Like a giant patchwork quilt in differing shades of white, we stretched out every last cover (yes, even the one I remembered was still in the garage from covering the spinach in the high tunnel last spring) and just barely had enough to cover the patch.

By morning, the ground was a frosty white, but the winter squashes were safely tucked under their blankets, which held in the lingering warmth of the earth. The next evening, rain was coming, so we traipsed out once more to roll up all the covers into balls, chucking them over the high fence. Gathering them up in our arms, we tottered back to the playhouse, ends trailing like bridal trains, to stash the covers away for another time of urgent need.

Frosts are once again on the forecast, and this time harvesting is the plan—today’s plan. We’ll pull a hay wagon or trailer up next to the outside of the fence, open up a chunk of the electric mesh, then have “inside” crew stack the squash on the tops of the bales while an “outside” crew sorts them by type onto the wagon. We’ll also sort out the underripe (aka pig food) squashes and ripe but blemished fruits for kitchen use. The rest we’ll tuck into the garage for a few days to keep safe from the cold and allow to dry before sorting into boxes for the root cellar basement storage.

There are quite a number of fruits out there this year! That’s great as winter squash is a key feature of our CSA shares well into the darkest months of the year. From spaghetti squash to delicotta, acorns to buttercups, butternuts to carnivals, pie pumpkins to some funny-looking varieties for the pigs (Long Island Cheese and Speckled Hound are some of the quirky names), there are big ones and little ones, spotted ones and striped ones, long ones and rotund ones, and one so big it might take two of us to lift it onto the bale!

With the first frosts, the smell of the garden changes. The brittle leaves crackle as you pass, and the backdrop of the orange-topped sugar maples in the barnyard all come together to create that classic mix that is autumn on the farm. Vs of Canada geese fly overhead, the hummingbirds and the Sandhill cranes have left, and most of the color has drained from the pollinator gardens in front of Farmstead Creamery.

Color, however, erupts in the reds and golds at the edge of the creek and in the fiery hues of the squash patch. Picking can feel like a treasure hunt, and I sometimes get giddy when I find an especially pretty or quirky one. Time to strap on the boots and the gloves and head out to save the squashes. See you down on the farm sometime.