There's a new giant pumpkin world record holder; TikTok expands the contests' appeal

As fall festivities kick into full gear across the country, many rural towns are rolling out the scales for their annual pumpkin weigh-offs, and one Rhode Island farmer has reason to celebrate his giant gourd growing efforts, writes Victor Mather of The New York Times. Farmer Ron Wallace's pumpkin just weighed in at 3,156 pounds, smashing the previous record of 2,856 pounds, according to Guinness. 

Pumpkin weighing contests are an American tradition, with contest going back as far as 1900, when the top weights were around 400 pounds, Mather writes. Changes in soil, pruning and pest control, along with genetic changes in seeds, has bulked them up over time. And now, thanks to social media, giant pumpkin farmers have grown in popularity, too. 

One such giant gourd grower, Sarah Whitty in Maine, goes by Pumpkinista on TikTok, and spent the  season this year posting updates about the slow and careful process of growing giant vegetables. Her videos where she details the behind-the-scenes of gourd growing have garnered her nearly 300,000 followers. Her 170-pound giant marrow named Secretariat claimed the North American and U.S. record this year, reports local news station, KTVB7. 

She is one of dozens of giant pumpkin and vegetable growers gaining in popularity on TikTok, including other growers with large followings, GourdFather and bigpumpki. The new giant pumpkin record holder, Farmer Wallace, told Mather the annual pumpkin growing contests captivate for a simple reason: "A giant pumpkin brings a smile to everybody’s face, and it doesn’t matter where you’re from, what nationality you are," he said. "Giant pumpkins don’t care about any of that," and that when someone sees the giant pumpkins, "everybody is just in awe." 

Flora & Fauna: Delightful Federal Duck Stamps; pumpkin history; bats for bug control; the incredible shooting plant

The simple genius behind duck stamps has supported conservation for over 90 years. (Adobe Stock photo)

Undeniably adorable when waddling on land, elegant and playful while paddling in water and given to showstopping, streamlined moves while flying: Ducks give artists so many reasons to love them. Among those artists, there is a special group -- realist wildlife painters vying to win the Federal Duck Stamp award, which many artists consider a "career pinnacle achievement, comparable to the Oscars or the Grammy’s," writes Kim Kobersmith of The Daily Yonder. The simple genius behind duck stamps has supported conservation for more than 90 years. "Duck hunters over 16 years old are required to purchase the stamp annually. . . . Ninety-eight percent of stamp proceeds go directly to add protected land to the National Wildlife Refuge System. In its 91-year history, the duck stamp has raised $1.2 billion and conserved 6 million acres across the country." The Fish and Wildlife Service website features the nation's Federal Duck Stamp gallery. 

How pumpkins evolved from a humble staple to a "spicy fall obsession" is a tale that began 9,000 years ago in ancient Mexico, writes extension specialist and horticulturist Shelley Mitchell for The Conversation. "I educate the people about the plant’s storied history and its prominence today." Mitchell explains that Native Americans grew pumpkin crops "even before [they grew] corn and beans." Being completely edible, pumpkins are a versatile crop, and early American settlers learned that growing them in North America was easier than in Europe. Read Mitchell's full history about this adaptable member of the squash family here.

A bat researcher measures the ears of a 'chatty' evening bat.
(Photo by Michael Minasi, KUT News)

An orchard filled with stink bugs, mosquitoes and dusty moths is an evening bat's dream dinner. "The tiny brown bats fill the Texas skies each night, and collectively eat tons of insects. They’re essential for farms – including where these researchers are working: Swift River Pecans," reports Michael Marks for Harvest Public Media. "The orchard’s owner, Troy Swift, hosted the researchers so they could collect more information on the species that visit his 266-acre property . . . Swift decided to forego using pesticides on part of his pecan orchard and just let the bat population handle the bugs this year."

An autumn road trip through rural Maine is one way to find the rarest and most coveted apples. "As leaf-peepers flood the state, apple-obsessives also fan out to find oddball specimens that range from rare heirlooms to never-before-tasted seedlings," writes Jen Rose Smith for The Wall Street Journal. "As an amateur fruit fanatic myself, I’ve long wanted to taste my way through Maine’s apple underground. . . along the state’s 3,500-mile coastline." Read Smith's complete apple adventure here.

A great blue heron stands in a restored stream that was once a cranberry bog. 
(Photo by C. Jackson, The Living Observatory via Inside Climate News)

Rising temperatures in Massachusetts have left some cranberry farmers unable to grow the state's signature crop. Instead of continuing to grow cranberries in a climate no longer suited for them, some area farmers are using state assistance to "transform their bogs into wetlands, ensuring the land remains protected," reports Nicole Williams of Inside Climate News. "The shift, called a green exit strategy, has been developed by state agencies and conservationists and driven in part by farmers finding tougher competition from regions with colder climates and younger vines."

American witch hazel plants use internal 'spring' pressure to shoot
their seeds at alarming speeds. (Snapshot via bioGraphic video)

 

As an understory shrub native to the eastern U.S., the American witch hazel (Hamamelis virginiana) plant may sound boring, but it has secret powers. "For centuries, Indigenous peoples in eastern North America have brewed 'magic water' by boiling bark from the twiggy shrub and using it to treat all manner of maladies," writes Katie Garrett for bioGraphic. "Perhaps the plant’s strangest trait is how it spreads its seeds. As winter approaches, they fire their glossy black seeds across the forest floor with audible pops — sometimes launching the start of a new generation as much as 10 meters (33 ft) away from the parent plant."