The Little Pumpkin That’s Teaching Me Patience

There’s a small pumpkin quietly growing in the garden right now, and honestly… I am ridiculously excited about it.

It’s not big.

It’s not loud.

It’s not in a hurry.

It hangs there on the vine, deeply ribbed and speckled, slowly growing day by day — doing exactly what it needs to do, in its own time. And every time I walk past it, I feel this little flicker of joy. That something is happening, even if it’s not finished yet.

Right now, it’s still a couple of weeks off being ready. The skin is firming, the colour is deepening, and the stem will soon begin to dry and harden — the final quiet signs that it’s reached maturity. There’s nothing for me to do but wait. To observe. To trust the process.

And I think that’s what I love most about growing food.

The garden doesn’t rush.

It doesn’t perform on demand.

It doesn’t respond to pressure.

Growth happens when the conditions are right — not a moment sooner.

This little pumpkin is a reminder that patience in the garden isn’t passive. It’s active. It asks you to step back, to notice subtle changes, to learn restraint. To resist the urge to harvest too early just because you’re excited.

And maybe that’s why it feels so personal.

Because growth — real growth — is like that too. It’s quiet. It’s slow. It’s often happening beneath the surface long before anything looks “ready.” And sometimes the most beautiful things in life are the ones you have to wait for, watching them become more themselves each day.

So for now, I’ll keep checking in on it.

Noticing. Trusting. Letting it finish when it’s ready.

And when the time comes — when the skin is hard, the stem is dry, and the vine lets go — it’ll be perfect.

Not because it was rushed.

But because it was allowed to grow.

Kat