Inside the 'magical' world of competitive vegetable growing at the Minnesota State Fair

The Minnesota State Fair makes a competition out of supersizing everything. The biggest boar. The largest sugar beet. The longest yellow slide.

But few fair attractions inspire more wonderment and curiosity than the monster vegetables.

The gargantuan pumpkins, stringiest string beans, and pudgiest potatoes boggle the minds of fairgoers with a common question: How did they get so big?

"It's something so magical," said Chris Brown, a champion grower of pumpkins, squash and hubcap-sized sunflower heads from Nowthen. "You take that little, teeny seed, you let mother nature do her part, and you do your part."

But beyond the seeds, black dirt, water and sunshine, what exactly does "your part" mean?

Outlandish theories and superstitious hypotheses abound throughout the horticulture building. Was the topsoil enlivened with radioactive waste? Were seeds doused with gallons of Miracle-Gro? Did you plant the turnips at midnight under a full moon?

Lori Anderson, of Roseville, said she used lake water to feed her green bean — though she acknowledged going back to the drawing board after her "shriveled up," 24-inch entry came up, well, short.

"I was able to grow the largest potato thanks to sandy, well-drained soil," Anderson said.

Katherine Anschutz, of Hanover, used her infant daughter's hands to plant beet and buttercup squash seeds for good luck. She also tried a lunar schedule.

"We plant all our seeds in the three days following the new moon," said Anschutz, whose squash took fourth place.

Green-thumb tips run deep — and are often downright odd. Rogue gardeners have sworn by prepping tomato plants by sprinkling the soil with Jell-0 powder. Others will leave beer cans out at night to catch slugs.

All would be fine by the State Fair's rules, says Phil Klint, superintendent of the vegetable & potato division. The plant must be grown within Minnesota's borders. They also must not crack or rot, which can disqualify some of the state's most impressive produce.

"That's the largest onion?" asked the girl, eating an ice pop. "I feel like we buy bigger than that at the store."

Klint has worked the vegetable division for more than three decades, taking over as superintendent a dozen years ago from his father. He spent his career in produce and said many participants sling a secret sauce. He's heard of pumpkin growers caking their gourds with manure or sunscreen to prevent cracking.

"Basically, when you're doing the exhibit," summed up Klint, "it's a beauty contest."

But a beauty contest without any cash prize.

"They're good for one thing," Klint added, "Bragging rights."

Competitive growing of vegetables used to be cloaked in secrecy, says Brown. But social media opened up the community.

Brown held the Guinness World Record for a 55-pound butternut squash from 2020 to 2021. He says mythologies — such as feeding your pumpkin milk — sprung up as a sabotage among rivals.

"Put milk on your pumpkin [and] you will have bugs and critters there eating it down to nothing," he said.

Last year's champion pumpkin grower, Brown chose not to enter this year's competition as he's in the middle of moving. Instead, he'll deliver talks at the fair about growing giant pumpkins. Some of his tricks include developing seed pedigrees without pollinator intervention and testing the soil's pH range.

One multiple-category winner this year, Hutchinson's Joan Dixon, said she and her 78-year-old mother — Jacquelyn — have been growing giant vegetables together for the past five years.

"We had a pepper that didn't win," Joan said. The Dixons also came up short with a 39-pound squash. The winning entrant weighed in at 79 pounds. "I don't think I could even lift that much."

While the fair's annual vegetable derby is competitive, there are plenty of growers willing to share their knowledge. A few years ago, Joan Dixon was told to buy her seeds from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds out of Missouri.

"They've got a 500-page, color catalog with the weirdest vegetables you've ever seen," she said.

The mom-and-daughter duo doesn't plant by moonlight. Nor do they play music on the radio to scare away deer. But they do grow their winners in the Hutchinson city garden.

"The good news is they have water for us," said Dixon. "But there's no way for us to do rain barrels."