海角大神

In simpler times, people held fairs to get together and show off the livestock they鈥檇 raised and the vegetables they鈥檇 grown. In Fryeburg, they still do.

Wander west of the commotion of the midway at the Fryeburg Fair and you鈥檒l encounter a matrix of exhibition halls. Inside, sheep bleat and cows stolidly chew their cuds. Quilts hang alongside oil paintings, and jars of pickles catch the light.

For the people who raised the cows or canned the pickles, the fair is what goes on inside these buildings 鈥� the prizes awarded, the acknowledgement granted. To them, the fair is all about a single pig or heirloom tomato or a single strawberry-rhubarb pie.

For Steve and Sally Swenson, it comes down to a giant Atlantic pumpkin named Daisy. She 鈥� pumpkins are always female 鈥� sits in a picket fence enclosure just inside the agricultural exhibition hall, not far from Old McDonald鈥檚 petting barn and the walk-away sundae booth. At 375 pounds, Daisy commands her share of attention from the fairgoers who mill around taking in the displays of baked goods and knitwear.

Recently, two days before Fryeburg began, the Swensons held a 鈥渇airwell鈥� party for Daisy and 150 guests in the backyard of their home in North Conway, N.H. The guest of honor 鈥� a resplendent orange orb surrounded by 400 square feet of foliage 鈥� was serenaded by a women鈥檚 barbershop quartet (the Pumpkinettes) and a men鈥檚 choir (the Pumpkin Heads).

There were knock-knock jokes, a dog solo, a kazoo-along, and a tribute to the recently deceased Howard Dill, a Nova Scotia purveyor of agricultural products including the seeds known to produce the largest pumpkins in the world.

鈥淚t takes a neighborhood to raise a giant pumpkin,鈥� Steve Swenson told the crowd to cheers and applause. Indeed, the Swensons had help with Daisy even before she was a sprout. She was germinated and tended in the early weeks by their friend Ludwig, who has a hospitable indoor environment for the process.

Neighbors fed and watered Daisy while the Swensons were away on vacation. Other friends served as 鈥渕edical鈥� consultants. At the party, Steve Swenson recounted a conversation between Sally and one of them.

鈥淪he told him, 鈥楧aisy鈥檚 oozing from her bellybutton.鈥� 鈥� He replied that she had her 鈥渁natomy all wrong:鈥� The problem was with Daisy鈥檚 backside.

鈥⑩赌⑩赌�

2008 was a tough year for pumpkins. All over New England, gourd-type vegetables cracked, burst, and popped after having taken in too much water during an unusually wet summer. Those that made it were smaller than average, often soft or affected by fungus.

Daisy was among the fortunate. She survived the ooze and the weather and woodchucks 鈥� mainly through luck and the ministrations of the Swensons, who have been growing Atlantic giants for 10 years and last year won second prize for their entry in the Fryeburg Fair.

In March, the Swensons singled out Daisy from a number of plants. As an only seedling, she was cosseted 鈥� fed Miracle Gro, manure tea, and extra potassium along with, every morning, coffee grounds. The grounds, Steve Swenson is convinced, are responsible for her deep, rich color.

She was covered by night and shaded by day with a tarp. Her taproots were severed 鈥� carefully, carefully 鈥� because taproots can pull down the stem and crack it.

At the proper time, she was hand-pollinated with a Q-tip. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 leave it up to the bees because they could cross-pollinate with a squash,鈥� says Steve Swenson. He and Sally chose 鈥渢he best-looking male and female,鈥� which is determined by such things as petal vigor and stem angle. Afterwards the female was closed off with a twist-tie so no bees could get to her.

Still, there were tense moments. When Daisy was just a blossom, a hail storm destroyed most of her leaves. It took weeks for her to recover. The rain leached nutrients, and the moisture and humidity threatened diseases.
Not far into the season each year, the Swensons get emotionally involved.

鈥淵ou can鈥檛 help it,鈥� says Sally Swenson. 鈥淵ou put months of work into them. If you鈥檙e away and it gets cold, you call a neighbor to cover them with a blanket. If it鈥檚 hot, you worry that they鈥檙e not getting enough water.鈥�

There鈥檚 also the aesthetic factor. 鈥淵ou go outside in the morning and there she is 鈥� a golden orb shining in the sun,鈥� says Sally Swenson.

Like her predecessors 鈥� Gladys, Bertha, and Agnes 鈥� Daisy was named 鈥渁fter she began to develop personality,鈥� says Sally Swenson. In this case, the nascent pumpkin was perfectly round, with a short stem and covered with downy hairs. 鈥淪he was perky and bubbly, and we knew she鈥檇 be good-looking.鈥�

At end of the party, a man who鈥檇 won the honor via lottery severed Daisy from her vine. A handful of people loaded her onto a truck using a cargo net borrowed from the Appalachian Mountain Club. Then it was off to the fair.

鈥⑩赌⑩赌�

Fair officials at Fryeburg aren鈥檛 always thrilled to see people arrive with their giant gourds. 鈥淚t鈥檚, 鈥極h no, here come those people with their pumpkins,鈥� 鈥� says Sally Swenson. 鈥淭hey told us, 鈥榃e don鈥檛 want you here until 3 p.m.鈥� 鈥�

Nevertheless, the Swenson crew was on the road that day at about 1 p.m., eager to get Daisy weighed. There was a certain amount of anxiety. According to Sally Swenson, 鈥淚t鈥檚 stressful to be a debutante pumpkin,鈥� and 鈥� she might have added 鈥� a grower of a deb.

Still, the Swensons were confident. Given the weather and the unfavorable conditions, they were hopeful they鈥檇 grown a winner 鈥� determined among giant pumpkins by weight alone.

It was not to be. 鈥淎s soon as we drove in, we knew we鈥檇 been beat again,鈥� says Sally Swenson. Sure enough, when Daisy and her closest rival were weighed along with the others in the over-200-pounds category, that one topped the scales at 425, fully 50 pounds heavier than Daisy.

Daisy wound up with the red ribbon and a $30 premium. The Swensons were disappointed but mindful of not communicating that to their pumpkin. 鈥淲e told her there鈥檚 nothing wrong with being No. 2,鈥� says Sally Swenson. 鈥淎nd she was the most beautiful.鈥�

And so Daisy sits in the agricultural hall, flanked by the clearly smaller third-prize winner and by the taker of first prize, which, it must be acknowledged, is pale and misshapen by comparison.

A boy climbs up onto the bench that backs the picket fence. 鈥淭hat pumpkin looks bigger,鈥� he says of Daisy. 鈥淎nd it鈥檚 orange. The one that won isn鈥檛 even orange.鈥�

A teenager leans in to take a photo with her cellphone. 鈥淐razy!鈥� she tells a friend. 鈥淚magine trying to move those things around.鈥�

When the fair is over, the livestock carted home, and the rides packed up, Daisy may temporarily wind up on a preschool playground. Then 鈥� don鈥檛 tell her this 鈥� she鈥檒l be cut apart and composted.

As for the Swensons 鈥� and neighbors 鈥� they鈥檒l have the photos, the red ribbon, and memories of their pumpkin being sung to by a dog.

And the hope of next year.