The Great Sghetticorn Experiment
Y’all… I think I accidentally created a Sghetticorn.
I wish I was kidding.
I planted spaghetti squash.
I planted acorn squash.
I planted butternut squash.
Seems pretty straightforward, right?
Apparently not.
The first thing that made me stop dead was one of the spaghetti squash getting GREENER as it aged.
So naturally I took it to Susan. (Susan is the name I gave to search since it’s now AI… for obvious reasons… no offense to the Susans out there 😬)
Susan, with all the confidence in the world:
“Well, immature spaghetti squash can sometimes become greener before they—”
Ma’am. That is the second oldest squash.
Susan regrouped.
“Well, depending on developmental age—”
THE TWO OLDEST ARE HOURS APART.
And because I am apparently incapable of simply saying something happened without bringing receipts, I started pulling dated pictures.
August 13.
August 14.
August 19.
August 26.
August 28.
September 7.
By the end of it, Susan was no longer explaining squash.
She was being cross-examined by squash. 🤣
The oldest spaghetti squash?
Pale. Smooth. Long. Finally starting to yellow exactly like a respectable spaghetti squash should.
The second oldest?
Same age within HOURS.
It decided yellow was boring and started turning gray-green instead.
Susan tried hanging onto normal developmental variation for another minute or two.
Then I showed her ANOTHER spaghetti squash.
On the exact same vine as the oldest.
And that fool has RIBS.
Not “maybe it’s a little bumpy.”
No.
It is over there shaped like it has been taking lessons from the acorn squash.
So now my spaghetti squash is looking like an acorn.
Fine.
Except then I showed her the ACORN squash growing up the trellis with the spaghetti.
And apparently the acorn looked over at spaghetti and said:
“You know what? I like your look too.”
Because those acorns are getting smoother, paler and more elongated while the acorn growing down on the ground still looks exactly like an acorn squash.
At some point I’m pretty sure Susan wanted to file for reassignment. 🤣
Then she tried the disease route for half a second.
“Sometimes viruses can cause stunted—”
HAVE YOU SEEN THE JUNGLE?!?!
Nothing in this garden is stunted.
The problem is getting the plants to understand that 107 acres does NOT mean every single one of them gets all of it.
And sitting right smack in the middle of this entire identity crisis is the butternut squash.
Completely unphased.
Vines tangled through everybody else.
Absolutely no respect for personal space.
Still producing perfectly normal butternut squash like:
“I don’t know what’s wrong with these people.”
Then I remembered something.
Very early in the season, before everything really started climbing, I was snapping off huge leaves that were dying, damaged or just plain in my way.
Those vines were all laying across each other.
Spaghetti.
Acorn.
Butternut.
Wounds.
Rubbing.
Pressure.
And because I apparently cannot leave well enough alone, down the rabbit hole I went.
Natural grafting.
Graft chimerism.
Plant tissue healing together.
And y’all…
I THINK I ACCIDENTALLY CREATED A SGHETTICORN.
Do I have laboratory proof?
Absolutely not.
Do I currently have photographic evidence of spaghetti squash growing acorn-ish, acorn squash growing spaghetti-ish, one spaghetti squash getting GREENER with age, and one completely normal butternut sitting in the middle watching the circus?
Ohhhhh yes I do. 🤣
And somewhere during the entire conversation, Isaiah 29:14 entered the chat:
“…the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hidden.”
Because I could practically picture YHVH sitting up there watching Susan flip through every perfectly reasonable scientific explanation she had while I kept producing another dated photograph.
“Yeah, Susan… go ahead. Explain.” 👀
🤣🤣🤣
And now I know exactly what we are doing next year.
Every single squash gets its OWN DANG BOX.
The spaghetti gets a box.
The acorn gets a box.
The butternut gets a box.
Nobody touches anybody.
Nobody rubs against anybody.
Nobody gets accidentally wounded while laying across somebody else.
AND…
I am planting the exact same seeds from the exact same packets.
Because I wanna know.
If they grow perfectly normal when separated?
Welllllllllll…
Susan and I are going to have a whole new conversation. 👀🤣
And if they STILL come out looking like they can’t remember what squash they were supposed to be?
Then we interrogate the seed packets.
Either way, I am saving seeds from the weirdos separately.
Because if one of these things breeds true next year…
Sghetticorn seeds, y’all.
What are they?
We don’t know.
Apparently neither do they. 🤣
