Last night at our Iowa City Cohousing board meeting at my house, I showed the other board members the patch of ground that was planned to be a garden with many vegetables, and which my own winter squash has completely taken over. Obviously this is a stupendous squash year. Here's a picture of my garden (turned squash patch) as well as a poem I wrote about it:
Each morning I look through my upstairs window
onto the green phenomenon below:
squash vines running rampant over my garden plot.
Since mid-summer, it has been a marvel,
these beautiful green arms
reaching out, uncurling,
stretching over the landscape
covering every other growing thing.
There is a vibrancy in this daily, almost hourly, growth,
a pulsing, unstoppable tide of life unfolding before my eyes.
Who knew that three small hills of seeds
would find the perfect setting to expand exponentially?
Surprisingly I feel no regret for all the vegetables that fell to this giant,
smothered under the lush foliage: lettuces, beans, carrots,
even my hardy tomato plants.
Former garden plans become insignificant compared to this explosion of life.
Almost jubilantly the vines ignore boundaries
creeping over lawn
climbing up fruit trees
stretching into the woods.
And oh, the orange and gold treasures
hidden beneath the leaves,
round ribbed smooth fruits of a season’s task,
transformation of sun and rain and soil
into plump heavy seed-carrying bodies.
If it weren’t already October,
my mind might be busy with fantasies and fears:
waking one morning, trapped in a tangle of
green ropey bindings,
doors and windows blocked,
the green take-over compete.
But frost is around the corner,
and this species particularly vulnerable.
Instead I celebrate my good fortune
to witness Life in such abundance.