What is this?

“What is this?” You might ask if you visited today and walked upstairs to the gallery surrounded by windows and at least 15 degrees warmer than anywhere else in the house. You’d gesture at the folding card tables upon which sit those plastic bags—the ones sheets come in. (Doesn’t everyone save those clear plastic zip containers? Too useful to throw away and too awkward for the landfill, at best.)

It was only at the end of the summer that our butternut squash monster plant began producing female flowers, each a peanut-shaped promise of bounty and lush, sweet, vegetal, starchy goodness. Not all were fertilized, some were eaten by animals. But in the end, we harvested seven squash, one longer than our toaster oven, two of Whole Foods size, and the rest varying from small to tiny. When the frost came at the end of October, only the first and largest had ripened.

Hmm… Dauntless, I turned to the Internet—indoor greenhouse, 80°F, and humid. I don’t have an indoor greenhouse, I thought. Or do I…

At long last, something to do with those sheet bags other than store the overflow of scarves, hats, and gloves. I lined them with kitchen towels, set them in the brightest, warmest area, then nestled in the washed and dried squash for a long, cozy nap. Every day since Halloween, I have turned them, re-orienting their makeshift greenhouses to soak up more sun. A few were too young, and we finally just ate those like zucchini. But today when I checked, one had ripened.