Who knew? My little golden crookneck squash–how I love their name, every time I say it can’t help but tilt my head, just so–if left unattended on the vine (they are best harvested by 3 or 4 inches, as pictured…) grow into way too large, inedible but probably decorative, gnarly orange gourds!! Yet still with the charming, lilting crookneck. 
These kind of magical squash were grown from Hudson Valley Seed Library seeds, expired at that. Oh, they might not even come up, said I and devoted just one row of the garden to them. Well, don’t let the adorable squash family pictured above fool you.
Come up they did.
One row was not sufficient. An entire field would have barely contained them. Expired, huh. And the beautiful artwork (even if you never plant the seeds, which would be a shame, you want to buy Seed Library seeds just for the gorgeous packaging) depicting a hazy Hudson River sunset scene, looking west to the Catskills, with a gently reposing single crookneck amidst several blossoms and leaves, well, hah! This is a squash with some kind of manifest destiny thing going on!!
In the next row over where it was looking pretty empty back in June, I planted an African purple basil and transplanted a rosemary, and put in a line of sunflowers. Empty no more! The basil is now trying to survive, and is doing surprisingly well, as a ground creeper, pushed and held down by the monster squash leaves and vines. The rosemary–I thought I took mercy on his piney branches by transplanting into the space left by the departed tomatoes, but I think he was too traumatized by the er, squashing down, and may not make it. The sunflowers–what sunflowers–they barely made it to seedlings.
Of course I love the squash, which I slice thin and, sometimes tossing in my surviving super 100’s and green beans from my German neighbor Pete, saute pan after pan of in bacon fat. Growing up with one parent from Nova Scotia and one from Georgia, I am actually not always sure which culinary traditions came from where–probably safe to say that one’s from the deep South.
But how funny to be out once again trying to prune and tame the prickly vines and leaves, and see a bit of bright orange something hidden under the size-of-a-medium-pizza leaves–I guess it had just gotten large enough to finally show itself. Oh, a dog toy lost its way! thought I.
No, that be just another pre-fall garden surprise, one awesomely ready-for-Halloween gourd look alike.