Feeding Your Village On One Enlarged Vegetable a Year

Feeding Your Village On One Enlarged Vegetable a Year

By Thandric of Galdmere, Retired Cabbage-Mage and Licensed Agrispellist, Third Chair of the Greenbelt Conclave  

Foreword

Greetings, aspiring agronomancers, practical hedge-wizards, and those who simply dislike frequent harvesting. If you have grown weary of daily farming, and find plowing the soil more exhausting than a tavern brawl with dwarves, this humble volume is for you. Within these pages lies the time-tested, spell-supported secret to feeding your entire village using a single, magically enlarged vegetable per year. Yes, just one. Not two. Not a salad. One vegetable. Yearly. You’re welcome.  

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Chapter I – The Concept

It is a known truth among we spell-gardeners that food, like relatives, is best managed in small quantities. However, the reverse is true when utilizing Enlarge on a root vegetable. Rather than grow many small potatoes and waste time digging them out, why not grow one potato the size of a small cottage? Feed the town, feed the livestock, build a festival around it, and then sleep until next planting season.   This method began after a well-meaning gnome cast Enlarge on a turnip and accidentally starved out the local squirrel population for an entire winter. Tragic? Yes. Efficient? Also yes.   The first question most young hedge-wizards and novice conjurefarmers ask when introduced to this concept is: “Why?” A fair question. And one I answered most clearly when I was trampled by six goats during the Turnip Harvest of 1027. After awakening in a haystack and coughing out my front teeth, I realized that there must be a better way. That way, dear reader, is agricultural efficiency through irresponsible magic.   The principle is simple. Why grow many small vegetables when you can grow one ridiculous one? A single oversized vegetable, when properly nurtured and magically enhanced, can sustain a hamlet, small village, or particularly disciplined adventuring party for an entire calendar year. This practice saves time, resources, and reduces the number of awkward town meetings concerning carrot theft. It also allows the village’s labor force to focus on more important things—like competitive whittling, wizard dueling leagues, or summoning minor deities for community service.   But let us not be naive. This is not just about laziness. No, it is a philosophy. A movement. A resistance against the tyranny of the hoe and the rake. To embrace the single-vegetable lifestyle is to challenge tradition, to spit in the face of crop rotation, and to yell “BEHOLD” while your cabbage casts a shadow over three cottages and the west stable.   There are side benefits, of course. Enormous vegetables create spectacle. They boost morale. They bring in seasonal tourism, assuming no one is crushed under a rolling yam. Young children can be taught geography using topographical features carved into the flesh of a fifty-foot rutabaga. Weddings can be held in the hollowed interior of a gourd. There is no limit to what can be achieved when size replaces quantity.   Now, some of the Council (particularly the Druidic Union of Leaf & Thorn) have accused this method of being “aggressively unnatural” and “an affront to the harvest spirits.” These are valid concerns, to be ignored entirely. The harvest spirits, if anything, seem to enjoy the novelty. One even showed up during the Feast of the Big Pea and autographed it. We cooked that section thoroughly and honored him by renaming the outhouse after him.   To conclude, the concept of single-vegetable sustenance is not merely sound—it is revolutionary. You, dear reader, are now part of something grand. A movement of mage-farmers, of soil-sorcerers, of root-wielding radicals. Embrace it. Plant with pride. And remember: the bigger the beet, the fewer the chores.  

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Chapter II – Choosing the Right Vegetable

When attempting to feed an entire village with a single magically-enlarged vegetable, the choice of crop is paramount. One must consider not only caloric yield and ease of storage, but also the magical stability, structural integrity, and, in unfortunate cases, emotional disposition of the selected produce. This chapter is dedicated to guiding the novice enlargist through the perils and potentials of vegetable selection.    

Beans – The Rumbling Legacy

Beans offer great protein, and enlarged bean stalks have, in past disasters, breached clouds and caused diplomatic incidents with skyfolk. The real danger, however, lies in digestion. When eaten en masse, a village may experience seismic events. Be responsible. Have a wind mage on standby. Never mix with ale.   Pros: Powerful food source, long-lasting
Cons: Gaseous fallout, structural damage  

Beet – The Bleeder

An enlarged beet is visually stunning and deeply untrustworthy. Its juice stains everything—clothes, stone, reputations. When cut, it looks like you’ve murdered something important. Entire cults have formed around "the Crimson Heart," a giant beet mistaken for a sleeping god. Beets have excellent nutritional value, but one must be willing to live in a permanently pink village.   Pros: High iron, feeds many
Cons: Stains all, unnerves livestock, inspires cults  

Brussel Sprout – The Cannonball

Enlarged brussels are dense, heavy, and aerodynamic. When dropped from even a modest height, they can shatter carts, roofs, or orcish morale. Unfortunately, no one wants to eat one. The texture is likened to chewing regret. Excellent defensively.   Pros: Indestructible
Cons: Edible only in theory  

Cabbage – The Noble Sphere

Cabbage is the clear front-runner for several reasons. Its densely packed leaves offer layer upon layer of edible surface, with minimal internal decay risk. When enlarged, the cabbage develops a hardened outer crust not unlike dragonhide, which resists rot, pests, and the occasional torch-bearing mob. A single colossal cabbage can be harvested layer-by-layer, like an onion with dignity. Additionally, the shape lends itself well to housing conversion once emptied. Just don’t let halflings move in before the drying phase. Mold is an issue.   Pros: Dense, nutritious, defensive outer shell
Cons: Emits a smell reminiscent of regret after two months in storage  

Corn – The Kernel Catastrophe

Corn, while a staple in many diets, is fundamentally incompatible with enlargement protocols. The husk-to-edible ratio becomes absurd at large scale, and the kernels, when oversized, become compressed pods of explosive potential. A storm over the village of Marn’s Hollow once turned a giant stalk into a living ballista, launching corn at lethal speeds and shattering windows five towns over. Recovery efforts are still underway.   Pros: Popular, can be ground into meal
Cons: Turns any thunderstorm into a siege  

Kale – The Bane of Joy

Kale enlarges well, stores well, and tastes like leather infused with mild smugness. No one is happy, but they’re all technically nourished. Some cults recommend it for purification diets. These cults are wrong and must be stopped. Enlarged kale fields tend to attract ascetics and those who’ve made terrible dietary vows.   Pros: Survivable
Cons: Demoralizing, possibly cursed  

Leek – The Vegetable That Judges You

Leeks are noble in soup, less so when the size of a tavern. The enlarged leek stands tall and whispers disapproval on the wind. Structurally weak, prone to toppling, and its aroma becomes overwhelming at volume. Entire towns have relocated due to "the Great Breath of the North Leek." Harvest with caution and good airflow.   Pros: Good flavoring, low chance of sapience
Cons: Smells like wet regret, collapses in wind  

Mushroom – The Fungal Gambit

Mushrooms enlarge beautifully, but they attract druids. Once grown, it is no longer your mushroom. A circle will form. Chanting begins. Someone will bring flutes. You’ve lost it. If you must grow one, harvest immediately and do not let the cap open—spores released at scale once caused an autumn to last four years. Some elves still blame us.   Pros: Delicious, can shelter an entire family
Cons: Possessed by spores, claimed by druids  

Peas – The Scatterstorm

Peas are never alone. One enlargement spell will produce thousands of marble-sized orbs with all the discipline of a rolling boulder. Entire villages have been lost to "The Great Slip," when an overzealous mage tried to feed a settlement with a single pea pod. No traction, no survivors. Risk to reward ratio is extremely low.   Pros: Fast growing, high yield
Cons: Mobility hazard, bouncing menace  

Pepper – The Village Roulette

Peppers come sweet or spicy. When enlarged, this distinction becomes violently relevant. A sweet pepper makes a great meal. A spicy one becomes a war crime. If you cannot tell the difference at thumbnail size, do not enlarge. Towns have been evacuated due to capsaicin clouds. Adventurers have used mega-peppers to clear dungeons without lifting a sword.   Pros: Tasty, decorative
Cons: Spicy variants cause involuntary planar travel  

Potato – The People's Boulder

The potato is beloved, versatile, and blessedly dull. When enlarged, it holds form well, stores excellently, and produces enough starch to thicken a river. However, be warned: under no circumstance should the skin be left intact post-harvest. A full-sized unpeeled mega-potato once fermented in a barn and exploded with the force of a minor siege engine. Otherwise, it’s the safe choice for the cautious mage.   Pros: Nutritious, stable, crowd-pleaser
Cons: Unpeeled = bomb, often stolen by halflings for vodka schemes  

Pumpkin – The Hollow Hero

While nutritionally inferior to cabbage, pumpkins possess the ideal structural trait of hollowness. Once the inner mass is consumed, the remaining shell makes an ideal granary, town hall, or seasonal carnival attraction. The downside? Once carved, pumpkins do tend to attract mischievous spirits. Entire hamlets have reported eerie laughter, spectral candlelight, and children speaking backward. If carving, bless the rind thrice and never, never, cut a face into it. That’s how it gets in.   Pros: Multifunctional post-consumption, easy to scoop
Cons: Haunted. Will roll downhill when unsupervised  

Spinach – The Muscular Mistake

Spinach is high in iron, vitamins, and unpredictable strength surges. When enlarged and consumed, some villagers report brief episodes of superhuman power and punching through sheds. Side effects include yelling, sudden mustaches, and hallucinations of animated forearms. Only serve to those cleared by local monks.   Pros: Nutrient rich, comedic muscle gains
Cons: Sporadic shouting, spontaneous improbable physics  

Tomato – The Red Flood

Tomatoes are soft, water-heavy, and prone to burst under the weight of their own ambition. The Enlarged Tomato Problem (ETP) is a well-documented magical hazard in agricultural circles. When the skin fails, which it will, the resulting explosion can flood fields, uproot trees, and leave everything within a one-mile radius smelling of soup. Best avoided unless you enjoy swimming in pulp.   Pros: Delicious, versatile
Cons: Will collapse, drown livestock, ruin festivals  

Turnip – The Gray Brick

Turnips are the bread loaf of the vegetable kingdom: bland, dependable, and difficult to misuse. When enlarged, they grow into massive tubers that can feed a settlement for months. Flavor, however, is a serious concern. Reports suggest even desperate goblins only eat turnips after boiling them in ale for six days. A good choice if you care more about quantity than taste. Also doubles as a foundation for root cellars, and in one case, a surprisingly sturdy bridge.   Pros: Durable, high volume
Cons: Culinary despair, attracts flavor-seeking witches  

Zucchini – The Overachiever

Unenlarged, zucchini is already prolific. Enlarged, it becomes a problem of scale. One enlarged zucchini can feed three villages and still generate more offshoots before the harvest is done. They multiply via unknown means. Reports exist of unattended mega-zucchinis rooting and forming independent settlements. Some say they are voting now.   Pros: Infinite supply
Cons: Territorial, may request land rights  

Special Mention: The Onion

Structurally strong and layered like cabbage, but with twice the drama. Enlarged onions emit a vapour that causes all within fifty feet to sob uncontrollably. While this can be weaponized, it is not recommended unless your village enjoys annual cry-feasts. Tears of joy do not apply. The sadness is deeply personal and inexplicable.   Pros: Keeps vampires, and most people, at bay
Cons: Requires goggles and group therapy  

Conclusion

Select your vegetable as you would your companions: stable, hearty, unlikely to explode or demand worship. The success of your village’s diet, mood, and housing prospects rests entirely on the root you choose to supersize. Choose wisely, and avoid any vegetable that whispers. They are not your friends.  

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Chapter III – The Spellwork

Wherein We Replace Hard Labor With Moderate Danger   As any self-respecting mage or overly ambitious farmer knows, magic is the perfect solution to problems that previously required effort, patience, or physical exertion. Enlarging a vegetable is not merely a matter of pointing a finger and shouting “big.” It is a delicate process involving timing, layering of spells, ritual seasoning, and at least one backup vegetable in case of spontaneous combustion.  

Step One: Preparation of the Seedling

Before casting any spells, one must begin with a vegetable worthy of greatness. Do not choose seeds from lazy crops. Look for ambition. Test your seedlings by placing a coin near them and checking back in three days. If the plant is reaching for the coin, you have a winner.   Once chosen, the seedling should be planted in a magically neutral field—meaning no ley lines, wild magic storms, or nearby wizards named “Grimbald.” Cast Plant Growth once per day at dawn for three days. This will imbue the plant with arcane potential. This step is referred to as The Encouraging, and gentle praise is known to improve results. Speak kind words. Threats confuse the roots.  

Step Two: Enchantments of Control

Before enlargement, protective enchantments must be placed. These include:  

• Glyph of Temperance – Prevents runaway growth, which once resulted in a zucchini climbing a wizard tower and claiming the top floor as sovereign territory.

• Sigil of Firmness – Ensures the structural integrity of the vegetable. No one wants a soft squash.

• Rune of Edibility – Reverses any side effects from the Enlarge spell that may make the vegetable taste like copper, pine tar, or regret.

 

Step Three: The Enlarge Spell

You must cast Enlarge/Reduce as an extended ritual. The standard version is insufficient for yearly food supply purposes. The ritual version requires:

• Three casters (or one very determined conjurer with snacks)

• A Focused Wand of Growth (a stick painted green is acceptable if enchanted)

• A continuous chant of “Bigger, Bigger, Bigger Now” in Elvish or Giantish (Common works, but the vegetable may resent it)

  The spell must be cast exactly one hour after local noon on the 5th day of Midsummer. If cast at the wrong time, your vegetable may enlarge on the ethereal plane instead, resulting in no food and several confused ghosts.  

Step Four: The Stabilization Phase

After enlargement, the vegetable must be “talked down” from its growth high. This involves playing soothing music (lyres, flutes, or the dulcet tones of a bard who owes you a favor), sprinkling salt around the base in a calming spiral, and gently patting the root node while saying, “There, there. You’re done now.”   If skipped, the vegetable may continue growing, develop ideas about territory ownership, or begin whispering to livestock.  

Warnings and Misfires

• If the vegetable begins levitating, do not attempt to bring it down with a rope. The rope will enlarge. The vegetable will escape.

• In case of transmutation backlash (vegetable becomes meat), refer to Chapter VI of “The Ethical Cannibalism of Former Carrots.”

• If your vegetable casts a spell back at you, it has achieved sapience. Alert local druids. Offer peace terms.

 

Final Notes

Always monitor the enlarged vegetable for the first 72 hours. Use magical wards, guards, or a grandmother with a broom. Remember, the spellwork is only half the battle. The other half is dealing with villagers who will inevitably try to carve their initials into it. This, legally, counts as crop defacement and may be punishable by being forced to clean the cabbage’s lower layers.   Feed wisely, enlarge responsibly, and may your turnips never speak back.  

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Chapter IV – Feeding the Village

Once your giant vegetable has been successfully grown, stabilized, and declared legally non-sentient (this requires a cleric and a form), the task of feeding your village begins in earnest. Many first-time practitioners believe that the hardest part is the growing. It is not. The hardest part is managing 300 hungry villagers with knives and poor impulse control while you attempt to ration a cabbage the size of a barn.  

The Chopfast Ceremony

The ceremonial first cutting of the Enlarged Vegetable, known as the Chopfast, is both a cultural and practical event. It must be done publicly, usually in the village square or nearest flat space not occupied by livestock or ancient ruins. The Honorary Vegetable Cleaver—typically the oldest person not on fire—is chosen by drawing the Shortest Parsnip. This person is responsible for the first slice, which must be clean, respectful, and not result in the accidental rolling of the vegetable down a slope into the healer's hut again.  

Portioning Protocol

Using arcane geometry and a very large spoon, the vegetable is divided into daily portions. Each villager is allocated a Slice of the Day, usually amounting to two to three pounds. Rations are issued via queue, not combat—though in busier villages, queue-based combat has become a recognized sport.   Care should be taken to account for:

• Children (1/2 portion, unless unusually large or known snackers)

• Elderly (1/2 portion, and occasional stew preference)

• Wizards (whole portion, plus extra for mood control)

• Bards (no more than a decorative sliver; they never eat it anyway)

 

Food Safety Considerations

Large vegetables can spoil faster than anticipated. Regular inspections must be conducted for rot, mold, or small colonies of goblins attempting to claim the lower rind as sacred territory. Offending portions should be removed and buried at least three towns over.   Preservation options include:

• Brining – Risk of entire village smelling of pickles.

• Drying – Excellent for snacks, also doubles as roofing material.

• Enchanting – Expensive, but allows the cabbage to hum lullabies while cooling.

  Avoid the use of necromantic preservation. No villager wants to be told their dinner has questions about the afterlife.  

Community Morale and Vegetable Festivals

To avoid “veg-fatigue” (symptoms include cabbage-rage and rutabaga delusions), schedule at least one monthly celebration themed around the Enlarged Vegetable. Suggested events include:  

• The Mid-Cabbage Roast – Open flame, spices, and public weeping.

• Rootball – A competitive sport played with hardened chunks of vegetable and no rules.

• Gourd Masquerade – Dress as your favorite non-existent vegetable and lie about it convincingly.

  Allow creativity. In one successful case, a halfling village fashioned an entire opera using pumpkin skins as instruments.  

When the Vegetable Runs Out

It is critical to monitor the remaining supply and begin preparations for next year’s planting well before the final slice is served. Failure to do so results in a famine known locally as The Week of Regret, during which villagers must subsist on preserved beet powder and passive aggression.   Recommended last uses of the final core:

• Stew, with every leftover herb you can find.

• Drying for seed extraction (DO NOT ENLARGE THE SEEDS, I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH).

• Sculpting into a monument so future generations may learn from your near success.

  By applying diligence, order, and frequent reminders not to eat half the cabbage raw at night, your village can thrive, grow strong, and only mildly resent you for feeding them nothing but squash for twelve moons. Success, like the cabbage, is enormous.  

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Chapter V – Storage and Leftovers

Also known as: “The 11-Month Problem” or “Why Your House Smells Like Rutabaga”   Once the Great Vegetable has been harvested, chopped, blessed, and partially eaten during the opening feasting days (which should last no longer than three lest you breed a village-wide stomach rebellion), you are left with one of the greatest challenges of the One-Vegetable System: preservation.   The Rule of Spoil: Any vegetable, no matter how magically enlarged, is still, at its core, a vegetable. It will rot. It will ferment. And it will attract every raccoon, goblin, and lesser fey within five miles. Therefore, smart storage isn’t just a luxury—it’s a survival tactic.  

The Cold Keep Method

“If it’s cold enough for your fingers to fall off, it’s cold enough for turnip slices.”   Ice magic is the ideal solution. Casting Cone of Cold or Ray of Frost every few days can keep your chopped vegetable rations preserved through most seasons. If you have a sorcerer who owes you rent, assign them this task in exchange for lodging. If not, dig a root cellar and post guards with torches, clubs, and an anti-sprouting hex.   Caution: Overfreezing may cause the cabbage to shatter, which sounds funny until you’ve watched twenty villagers cry while picking frozen lettuce out of their eyebrows.  

Pickling

“All things can be pickled. Even regret.”   A brined storage system works well and doubles as a morale-booster during flavorless winter months. You’ll need barrels, salt, vinegar, and at least one bard to sing songs to the barrels to “keep the spirits out.” This has no magical benefit, but bards get sad if they’re not involved.   Pickled pumpkin is an acquired taste. Acquired through trauma, mostly.  

Smoking “If it’s good for trout, it’s good for squash.”   Build a large smoking shed and feed it hickory, sage, and the occasional incense for flair. Smoked eggplant stores for months and gains a pleasant leathery texture. Smoked cabbage, however, has been banned in four provinces due to “volatile aroma stacking.”  

The Subterranean Storage System

“When in doubt, bury it.”   If your village is near caves, old mines, or disused necromancer dens, these often maintain a stable temperature year-round. Pack your surplus vegetable matter in crates and seal them tight. Mark them clearly. There have been incidents where explorers found an unlabeled yam deposit and assumed it was the preserved heart of a forest god.   If a village child finds the buried vegetable and claims it is whispering to them—dig elsewhere.  

Creative Use of Leftovers

Leftovers can be more than food—they can be infrastructure. Here are proven uses:

• Insulation: Dried carrot slabs work as roof patches.

• Weapons: A well-hardened parsnip makes a decent club.

• Crafts: Gourd-shell helmets. Cabbage-leaf paper. Beetroot ink.

• Housing: With enough preservation spells, one can convert a hollowed zucchini into a functional inn. Just watch for mildew.

  Should you wish to dispose of leftovers, do not simply throw them into the sea. Sea-druids become agitated when a fifty-foot yam washes up and “challenges the natural balance.” Also, sea serpents now associate pumpkins with bait.  

Final Note

Waste not, want not. Unless it’s been cursed, partially reanimated, or now contains a sentient spirit named “Grindle” demanding tribute. In which case: move to a new village.

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Appendix A – Known Mishaps and Legal Disclaimers

• The Great Carrot Sinkhole of Eldenmere

• The Leek Revolt

• Legal case: Villagers v. The Pumpkin That Screamed

• Case Study: The Beet that Would Not Die

 

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Disclaimers (As Required by the Bureau of Arcane Liability):

• The author is not responsible for property loss, village implosion, or romantic entanglements with animated squash.

• Always consult your local agrispellist before using Enlarge on root crops.

• Enchanted vegetables are not suitable for familiars, mounts, or romantic partners.

• Consumption of magically-altered produce may cause temporary illusions, false memories, or develop opinions about local politics.

• If your vegetable speaks Common, cease consumption and notify the nearest ethics tribunal.

• Vegetables made to last more than a year may develop regional dialects or minor religious followings. Proceed with caution.

 

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Closing Words

Feeding your village need not be a constant toil. With the right spell, the right seed, and the willingness to eat nothing but boiled cabbage for eleven straight months, you too can achieve agricultural glory. Remember, it’s not about what you grow—it’s about how large you grow it.   Now go forth, dear reader, and plant wisely. But not radishes. Never radishes.   —Thandric of Galdmere (May or may not still be part turnip)