To Be or Not to Be a Pumpkin: Harrison Salisbury’s Existential Gardening

November 14, 1908

On this day, dear readers and fellow cultivators of words and gourds alike, we celebrate the birth of a most intriguing character in the garden of journalism: Harrison Salisbury, the American wordsmith whose pen proved mightier than the Iron Curtain.

Born in the year of our Lord 1908, young Harrison would grow to become a journalistic giant, his roots stretching across continents and ideologies.

In the aftermath of that great global upheaval known as World War II, Salisbury achieved a feat as remarkable as coaxing a delicate orchid to bloom in the depths of a Siberian winter. He became the first regular New York Times correspondent to take root in the stony soil of Moscow, that enigmatic capital of the Soviet empire.

Oh, what tales he must have cultivated in that frosty climate!

His words, like hardy perennials, flourished where others might have withered. So profound was his impact, so bountiful his harvest of truths, that he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize - the horticultural equivalent of a blue ribbon at the county fair, if you will.

But it is not for his Cold War correspondence that we gather 'round our gardening journals today, dear friends. No, it is for a most peculiar utterance, a seed of whimsy planted amidst the serious furrows of his career. For you see, Harrison Salisbury once proclaimed:

My favorite word is 'pumpkin.'

You are a pumpkin.

Or you are not.

I am.

Now, isn't that a statement to make one pause mid-pruning?

To think that this titan of journalism, this cultivator of cold, hard facts, would harbor such affection for our round, orange friends!

One can almost picture him, amidst the grey streets of Moscow, dreaming of pumpkin patches and autumn harvests.

But let us dig deeper, shall we?

For in this simple statement lies a philosophy as rich as well-composted soil:

You are a pumpkin.

Or you are not.

I am.

Is this not the essence of self-awareness?

Of choosing one's identity as carefully as one selects seeds for the coming season?

Perhaps Salisbury saw in the humble pumpkin a reflection of his own journey.

Starting small and unassuming, putting down roots in foreign soil, growing steadily despite adverse conditions, and finally emerging as something substantial, impactful, and dare we say, rather orange in the glow of success?

Or perhaps he simply appreciated the pumpkin's versatility.

After all, is not the pumpkin equally at home in a savory soup or a sweet pie?

Can it not be carved into a grinning jack-o'-lantern or left whole as a proud centerpiece?

Much like a skilled journalist, the pumpkin adapts to its context while retaining its essential nature.

So, dear gardeners, as you tend to your plots and ponder life's great mysteries, consider the wisdom of Harrison Salisbury.

Are you a pumpkin?

If not, perhaps you're a sturdy oak, a delicate rose, or a persistent dandelion.

Whatever you may be, may you grow with the strength and certainty of Salisbury's beloved pumpkin, spreading your vines across the world and leaving it a little more colorful, a little more flavorful, and a little more interesting than you found it.