(photos taken in 10 day increments)

Several summers ago, I had a bumper crop of kabocha squash. The vines tangled all over the vegetable garden yielding many heavy, dark, green squash. The orange flesh inside, starchy and firm, roasted to sweet perfection with brown carmel crisped edges. Several times when visiting my parents, I brought roasted kabocha. Mom and Dad relished produce from my garden, but especially the kabocha.

Though I had little to do with the abundance (thank you sun, rain, bees and soil), Mom was thrilled with my “talent” as a gardener and for months whenever talking with my two younger sisters, would repeatedly mention “Jing Jing’s oishii (Japanese slang for super delicious) kabocha”. It became a joke between us sisters, asking each other if Mom had mentioned the kabocha.

While savoring the kabocha, Mom frequently reminisced about “kuri” or “chestnut” kabocha she ate as a child. She always smiled at this recollection and the memory of her sharing, still makes me smile.

After two seasons of failed kabocha vines, I swore I would never try again—it felt like my vegetable garden was mourning the passing of my parents, just like I was. But then this past spring, I found kuri kabocha seeds at Baker Seeds. I had to try, for Mom. With a colder than average spring and a cool summer, it seemed my kabocha vines were doomed. But one day, the familiar orangey yellow blossoms appeared. I held my breath as I watched the bees pollinating and to my delight, little yellow orbs eventually formed.

Some of the orbs rotted off. But at least 6 are making their way to maturity, from light yellow to orange and with luck and care, hopefully to the deep reddish orange of the mature squash. Every morning when I check on my little squash babies, I am filled with gratitude for the time I had with my parents in the last years of their life. And my heart warms knowing my garden holds not only Mom’s favorite “kuri” kabocha but also memories of her.