Amputating a pumpkin 1

Today, I managed to sever Pumpkin 3's lifeline to the mother ship. In other words, I accidentally cut the vine that connects it to the rest of the GD plant. I was bushwhacking my out-of-control heliopsis (or "yellow flowers" as they're more commonly called) and, oops, it was clipped. Dang. And it was starting to turn orange as fate would have it.

After a few choice words, I accepted P3's mortal blow. Accidents can and do happen in a garden. It is, after all, a jungle out there.

And, of course, even without accidents, a plant's life is essentially transient anyway.

With an silent apology, I gently placed P3 next to the garden waste I would dispose of later and went back to work.

And of course got to thinking. Was it even remotely possible P3 might go from green to orange without root and water? What would happen if he just sat quietly in a warm, sunny spot for a week or so? (Once Junior started to change color, the process went FAST.) Even better, what would happen if P3 somehow stayed hydrated, nourished AND sat in a warm, sunny spot for a week or so?

Curiosity, along with necessity, is a worthy mother of invention. Out came a coffee can, in went water with a generous pinch of plant food. A small flower pot was commissioned to serve as hospital bed, and voila! I started a pumpkin IV. A narrow concrete walk in a sunny corner of the backyard (all the better to absorb and store sunlight) is the temporary ICU.

Pray the rosary. Send a memo to the deity du jour. Make a small sacrifice to the pumpkin gods. For my green pumpkin on life support.