For Linus of Peanuts fame, Halloween was all about the pumpkins—and unshakable faith in one in particular. Would you, too, wait through the night in a worthy patch for the mysterious Great Pumpkin’s annual return? Or go for the candy?
It’s said that Jack of lantern fame was once a real person who made a bad deal with the devil. He ended up forever doomed to roam the earth the night before All Souls Day, with only a candle in a turnip to light his way. To protect against Jack, and any nasty spirits, people carved their own gourds—turnips, radishes, potatoes—with terrifying faces. Then they added candles to represent the souls trapped in Purgatory and placed the jacks in windows or outside their homes.
Brrr. Not exactly the tame jacks of my childhood. But each year, it’s the spirit of the pumpkin—along with the stringy, yellowish guts and smell of melting wax—that holds fascination for me. Or maybe it’s just the faces.
My dad, also named Jack, shared my love of grinning gourds. Selecting worthy pumpkins to carve was a ritual for us every year.
Dad was extremely picky about our choices, although our jacks always turned out exactly the same. Triangle eyes, circle nose, jagged mouth with missing teeth. I drew the face and Dad did the cutting.
The night before Halloween, my mom fled to the other end of the house while my dad and I destroyed the kitchen with gloppy pumpkin guts and slimy seeds. Not to mention all that test smoke from the test candles. I think I was trying for the same expression in this pic. Note the lovely 60s curtains.
We placed our creations on the stone wall in front of our house. One year, they were attacked by stick-brandishing hooligans. I was as crushed as the pumpkins when I saw the slippery remnants at the bus stop the next morning.
The next year we displayed our jacks on TV trays on the patio. I kept vigil by the window after I finished trick-or-treating. Later, our valiant jacks died slow, painful deaths on Corelle Ware plates in the kitchen. First, little black dots appeared. Then the sides crumpled, twisting mild expressions into gnarly, evil scowls. At that point, my orange charges simply vanished, never to be seen again. My mother blamed their disappearance on the dog (note fearsome poodle below).
Many Halloweens have come and gone. But each year when the scent of chrysanthemums and wet leaves fills the air and the nights fall sooner and colder and darker, it’s time for the truest, worthiest jacks to return. This year, the youngest member of our family (she’ll be 3 weeks old) will receive her first pumpkin.
Happy Halloween, Everyone!
Readers, are you celebrating with any pumpkins this year (or have you in the past)? Most importantly, do you believe in the Great Pumpkin?