There is a long-standing tradition in the Gallagher household, and it involves hundreds of giant pumpkins.

Long before I can remember, my seven older brothers and sisters began a small family business growing Atlantic Giant pumpkins on a local farm and selling them out of our backyard.  The project was entirely managed within the family and entailed the care of 300 to 400 hundred plants from early May into late September and the harvesting of the 100-pound pumpkins for selling season in October.

I have vague memories from years ago when I would “help” my siblings in this annual, large-scale operation by weeding with my hands in the fields and waving homemade for-sale signs at our roadside stand in the fall.  I used to love watching the looks of incredulity appear on the faces of passersby when they first glimpsed those beautiful, giant pumpkins, which were almost as large as the little girl standing beside them.

Gradually, as many of my older siblings headed to college and took on various other summer jobs, leadership roles for the project were passed down through the ranks of the family. I began to take on more responsibilities as I became more capable of doing the physical labor. But it wasn’t until the summer before my freshman year at Notre Dame that it was finally my turn to take charge of the business.

Before that summer, I had already spent six years in agriculture and retail by working at a local farm stand.  That job, combined with the years I had spent observing and helping my older siblings grow the giant pumpkins, made me believe that I was prepared enough to undertake the responsibilities of leading the project.  But as it quickly became clear, I honestly had no idea what I had gotten myself into.

Flash forward to the middle of August and find my younger siblings and I in the middle of a sprawling field.  Hundreds of small, yellow gourds are hidden under a sea of green vines and the weeds surrounding them are out of control.  Each of us is drenched in sweat, our hands with blisters and calluses.  We had already spent countless hours over several months in that field with hoes and spray, attacking the weeds and hostile insects.  No matter how much time we labored in those muddy rows, we were always struggling to keep up.

Few aspects of the physically strenuous work that this job demanded were even remotely enjoyable or pleasant.  For the most part, it was simply exhausting.  And on top of that, it was far from gratifying work; none of the labor that we invested in the project would be rewarded until the end of the season—six months after we had begun.

However, it was in the midst of those endless rows that I learned more about my siblings and even about myself than I ever had up to that point in my life.  In an effort to distract ourselves from our aches and pains while we worked, we began asking one another random questions, sharing ideas and future aspirations, and describing our favorite books and movies.  We discussed history and debated philosophy and politics.  

Over the course of those months, I started discovering aspects of my siblings’ personalities that I had never noticed before.  And through my conversations with them, I found myself beginning to articulate some of my own beliefs aloud for the first time.  The hours I spent with the hoe in my hand were gradually transformed into a rich opportunity for personal discovery and the deepening of friendship.  Although our conversations did not actually lessen the difficulty of the physical labor, that effort to deepen my self-understanding and to learn about the deeper hopes and desires of my own siblings infused great value into that struggle.

Life at Notre Dame is certainly not without its struggles.  But we can transform our boring or particularly difficult tasks into opportunities for learning about ourselves and others through discussion.  When we engage in conversations with a genuine desire to know others and their personalities more intimately, we open ourselves to deeper friendships.  It is this union of the mind and heart with the work of our hands that can make the mundane meaningful.

Ann Gallagher is a junior living in Pasquerilla West.  Email her at agallag3@nd.edu.