Ewoud Dykshoorn and Kathleen Fenton – Bequest
4026 Woodruff Road, Livonia, NY
Dried Winter squash, approximately 40 inches by 5 inches

In 2015 my grandfather, Ewoud Dykshoorn, gifted me a Butternut squash from his garden. The squash was almost a meter long and had been set to dry in his mud room for at least 6 months. He suggested that I paint it. I always envisioned regifting it to him painted with a landscape of Massland, the Dutch town he was born in in 1925. He passed away two years later at the age of 91. The squash has been tucked in my garage ever since.

When discussing the afterlife of organic matter, I immediately thought of the giant squash. By keeping it in the cool, dry garage, I had tried to preserve it, to remove it from the it’s life cycle and hold it as a keepsake. I appreciated it more for its stagnation than its potential to transform into something new. To honor the life of my grandfather (and the many giant plants he grew) I set out to surrender the relic to the world in which it was reared.

Judging by the squash’s size and characteristics, I learned that it is most likely a Butternut Squash of the Ultra HP variety. The seeds of this squash can last up to 6 years if they are stored in a cool, dry place. My first thought was to make something with the seeds, but since the husk is at least 7 years old I decided to use the body of the gourd for the work instead. Carving two 2 inch diameter holes 10 inches apart from each other, I prepared the body as a potential vessel for wildlife, particularly European Starlings who are common visitors to our yard. I expected the inside to be completely hollow. Instead, I found intricate and delicate paper-like webs suspending the dried seeds. I removed only the skin of the squash to leave the layers of tissue inside as a resource for whatever may come to inhabit it. My grandfather’s gift to me is now settled 4.5 feet off the ground on an old rabbit hutch.

The squash has changed over it’s long life and will continue to do so as it slowly decomposes in the surrounding moss and pine needles, hopefully sheltering passing Starlings along the way. Similarly, my relationship with my grandfather has changed in the 4 years since his passing. He is no longer present to touch or talk with, but our bond perseveres nonetheless. In many ways I’ve always considered death to be a goodbye. As I grow older I understand it more and more as a transformation instead.