Number 1: They get way too big. I planted nine plants in the following bed, four hills of two and one hill of one. This is 40 square feet. That should've been plenty space. No. They wanted more. I think squash are pushy. Behind them, in the shadowy corner, is the paper wasp nest I allowed. We're not talking tame little Western paper wasps, here; no, it's the Europeans, the ones that take exception to invasion. How am I supposed to pick the ones in the back?
Number 2: They are drinking three times the water being consumed by my reasonable, evironmentally conscious, tomatoes and peppers. I am constantly watering these guys, and they want more, more, more. "Want" is not correct. They demand it. Should the gardener be so unwary as to slack off on the water, even for a second, they go on strike and abort their fruit.
Number 3: They attrack what I suspect to be an unsavory crowd. If I encounter a bug with which I am not familiar, I kill it rather than risking it getting away while I run in and look it up in the bug book. Well, ever since the squash moved into my neighborhood, three different bugs have made an appearance: 1) One humongous black beetle with four orange squares on his back; 2) Three red-and-black winged bugs; and 3) Two very unsavory looking, small-bee-type bugs with a green head. I haven't been killing them; their resemblance to a bee is all that is keeping them alive, but the others are dead.
Number 4: I don't like squash. I've tried it. I don't like it. It was a cucurbits year. I decided to experiment. I guess I'm glad I did. Now I can sneer when I pass the squash in the produce section at my grocery store. I won't grow 'em again, though. Never. Too big, too much water, too many bugs, gross tasting.
Hey, can these puppies be pruned? I really want to pick the back ones in this photo, should the squash be so gracious as to produce without me draining the better part of the North Platte