In theory, it should have been easy.
Viddie knew pumpkins. He’d grown up eating pumpkin pie from scratch, and he knew all of the ins and outs of what made a pumpkin a pumpkin.
He had a book with diagrams and a list of the appropriate – or close enough to appropriate – Greek and Old Tongue Words.
And he was in the grotto, kneeling in front of a little patch of dirt, alternately muttering words and spitting out curses his mother probably didn’t know he knew.
The vines were growing, sure. They were even putting out little flowers. But there wasn’t – right. He needed to pollinate them. He couldn’t remember if this sort of plant was self-pollinating, so he started another one. Continue reading