Here's one of the last photos that I have of my pumpkins. It seems that Woodrow the Third decided that my pumpkin patch was his personal buffet.
Woodrow the Third is a big old Woodchuck with a big old appetite. I was able to stop his father, Woodrow Jr, with lots of fencing and constantly filling in his holes. So he was content to stick to eating fallen apples from my overgrown apple tree. It was actually a welcomed sight of him eating my apples because that meant there was a few less for me to pick up. So it was tough but we found a way to co-exist together.
Several years before that his grandfather, Woodrow Sr, caused big problems for my first vegetable garden. But he met an untimely death on the main road near my house. That was the day that I learned that if you ever drive by road kill, and recognize it, cheering should be kept to a minimum and done quietly by yourself at a later time. Not something that the wife and her friends can relate to, I guess.
But now the treaty that Woodrow, JR and I managed to work out has been broken. Woodrow III took a bites out of more than 10 of my pumpkins. The patch has been decimated and only a month before Halloween. War has been declared.