Granny catches raiders of the lost pumpkins

Our campus neighborhood boasts several dried-up ponds and a century ago they were quite a sight. Our university has no plans to restore the scenery, so our senior neighbors are practicing agricultural skills there.

By early fall, the empty ponds have been filled with all sorts of vegetables. The pumpkins are really amazing. Like small claws, the tips of the pumpkin vines climb over the cabbages, the hot peppers and the Chinese onions before occupying the muddy path circling the ponds.

The vine tips have sent me and my wife crazy, as both of us have grown up eating the delicacy. In Southwest China, pumpkin vine tips replenish one of the most mouth-watering dishes. You can fry it with dried hot pepper, or brew it in sour hot soup. Its unique crispy and juicy texture appeases the most critical taste buds.

But after settling down in Beijing, my wife and I have been forced to live without this dish. Not any more. The Heavens perhaps heard the cries deep in our stomachs and sent a rare gift to our doorstep.

In our hometown, picking pumpkin vine tips is not a sin, in fact, it helps growth. If you don't prune the vine regularly, it won't bare golden, king-size pumpkins. It is a custom to pick pumpkin vine tips and distribute it among the neighborhood.

But here in Beijing, our neighbors don't seem to understand this necessity. Everyday, when my wife and I passed by the pumpkins, we experienced a spiritual struggle: To pick or not to pick? This is a question. If we did it, our neighbors might think we were thieves and treat us as public enemies.

The temptation proved too strong. One afternoon, when few people passed by the ponds, my wife held a few wild edible herbs as a pretense, and I dashed towards the tender vines. After filling a plastic bag with pumpkin vines, covered with a layer of wild herbs, we fled home to prepare this long coveted dish. It was with tears of excitement that we chewed and devoured our heaven-sent delicacy.

After committing the crime a few times, we began to lower our vigilance. Eventually, on a moon-less night of howling wind, we crept into a pond and began grabbing the vine tips. As we dreamed of throwing a feast for our friends, a shout cut open the night's curtain: "Got ya finally! How greedy you are! Freeze right now!"

Thunder-struck, I stood waiting for the granny to come over and maybe I could talk reason into her stubborn mind about the science of growing pumpkins. But my wife, who always has the presence of mind, dragged my sleeve and we fled like criminals.

We spent that night in wild imagination: Would our neighbors set a bounty on the heads of "a pair of pumpkin thieves"? Would some insiders contact the tabloids and the news might read: "Subsidiary agricultural products' prices soar, XX University's associate professor couple lives on stealing vegetables"?

So far, we haven't been caught. But the pumpkin vines are recently sprayed with pesticides. So, the headline might one day be revised: "Professor couple dies of poisoned vegetables".

(China Daily 09/18/2007 page20)