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Southern France
Lynn Deasy is a freelance writer, author, foodie, and garden tinkerer. She lives in a 600 year old house in southern France with her husband, Christophe. Currently, she is looking for a literary agent for her memoir CA VA? STORIES FROM RURAL LIFE IN SOUTHERN FRANCE which examines the oddities of French provincial living from an outsider’s point of view through a series of adventures that provide more than a fair share of frustration, education, admiration, and blisters…. yes, lots and lots of blisters. Lynn blogs every Monday, Wednesday, and sometimes Friday.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Monsieur Potiron

For the last few years in our garden, we’ve had some form of a potiron, or pumpkin.  This year, we have a potiron galeux, which refers to the bumps it forms on its outer shell. We use it in all forms: soups, pastas, mashed, and even in nutty breads.  A single potiron from our garden can weigh 20-30 pounds, so even one from the garden is enough to keep us going for most of the winter.  Our neighbors, Monsieur and Madame Gousse had one so big a few years back that they had to use a wheel barrel to get it out of the garden.
When planted, we tend to the seedling very closely, giving it lots of water.  Each day, we tour the garden and are amazed with its rapid growth.  This year, it has done remarkable well.  In fact, it has crawled over the six foot tall tomato stakes, climbed the wall, and trotted along the terrace and is about to reach the other side.  Needless to say, it is enormous. 

Monsieur Potiron along the terrace

climbing the wall

Its presence is so commanding that we’ve gone from calling ‘it’ a potiron to giving it a title and calling it ‘Monsieur’.  It seems to fit him, and I think he’s flourished even more with his new status because we don’t have one potiron on the vine, we have six – with new fruit still forming.  It has attracted attention from every passing person, and by the path it’s making to the fence, I think it’s making an effort to reach out and touch them.  He seems friendly enough, but I was tripped in the garden the other day after hungrily admiring one of the fruits.

Perhaps it’s best not to tell him about Halloween or Thanksgiving. 

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