You cannot grow a pumpkin.

You cannot grow a pumpkin.

You can, however, put a pumpkin seed in earth. You can feed it nitrogen,<br>phosphorus, and potassium. You can moisten it (but please don't drown it). You<br>can erect barriers to prevent folks from walking on it. You can dig a swale to<br>fight erosion.

A sprout appears -- it's so small, so vulnerable. You can drench it in ovicides<br>and larvicides and fungicides. You can shield its hungry new leaves from<br>excessive sunshine. You can take a photo of a pumpkin flower and share it on<br>Instagram. You can watch local pollinators, whose short visits transfer genetic<br>material between lucky pumpkin plants. You can protect a flower as it becomes a<br>fertilized ovary and matures into a fruit -- green, at first, then large and<br>orange. You can remove its innards and carefully follow your aunt's pumpkin pie<br>recipe (which didn't turn out right). You can carve a big smile into the flat<br>surface where it once laid on the earth and place an artificial candle inside<br>it.

But you cannot grow a pumpkin.

Nor can you hiccup, nor sneeze, nor scar. You cannot beat your heart. You cannot<br>rewire your dendrites, nor teach yourself guitar. You cannot change your mind.<br>You can forgive, but you cannot forget. You can purchase a gym membership, you<br>can walk there after work (when you feel like it), but you can't create new<br>muscle fibers. You can lift weight, but you cannot lose weight. You cannot<br>develop a new habit (nor stop an existing one). You cannot make him love you<br>again. You cannot purchase charisma from a grocer, but you can thank an<br>overworked/underpaid cashier for working over a holiday weekend. You can play<br>piano (unless you can't play piano).

You can't grow a pumpkin.

But you can spend time with a pumpkin pie fanatic, and notice yourself skimming<br>plant facts on Wikipedia. You can drive yourself to work, where somebody will<br>hopefully deposit wages into your bank account again. You can exchange that<br>money for seeds and a trowel and chicken wire, and you can purchase whatever<br>chemicals the cute guy at the nursery recommends. You can continue to give your<br>landlord rent and hope that he doesn't notice you burying pumpkin seeds behind<br>the apartment building.

You cannot grow a pumpkin, but you can improve the odds.