I’ve been doing a lot of reminiscing about pumpkins.
One fine October day, when my brother Mike and I were young boys
growing up in Dongola, we decided to see what would happen if we
smashed a pumpkin.
Now, I can’t tell you where that pumpkin came from. Not that it’s a sordid
secret; I simply can’t recall that particular detail.
We dragged that big pumpkin up to to the slope behind our house. Working
together, Mike and I picked it up and gave it a mighty heave…
SPLAT!
There was an explosion of rind, seeds, and stringy orange goo. It was a
magnificent sight.
Little did we know, the real fun was just beginning. Because the following
year, that same slope where we smashed our pumpkin, was suddenly
home to a bunch of little vines with big yellow blooms.
It wasn’t long before those blooms turned into pumpkins. Not just one or
two, but a whole slew of ‘em.
Now, a sensitive soul would look at a surprise pumpkin patch and think,
“Isn’t nature wonderful?” But Mike and I looked at it and thought, “Hey! We
can smash a LOT of pumpkins.”
Somehow, someway, we loaded a mess of those pumpkins onto our
bicycles and headed out. Our destination was the I-57 overpass.
We’d heard about some other boys dropping watermelons off the overpass.
As I recall, they got caught doing it. So Mike and I devised a fool-proof
plan: Don’t get caught!
Eventually, we reached the overpass with our precious cargo. We picked
out a perfect pumpkin, lifted it over the edge, and watched it fall.
I can still remember that first pumpkin.
When that thing hit the ground, it looked like a big orange bomb had been
detonated on the interstate.
It was phenomenal.
Now, before you get the wrong idea, I must clearly declare that we never
dropped any pumpkins on moving cars or trucks. Did the thought cross the
minds of two young boys? I’m not going to lie… probably. But thankfully,
common sense got the best of us. So we’d wait until the coast was clear
before letting the next pumpkin fly.
Y’know, I was never one of those kids who went around smashing jack-o’-
lanterns on people’s porches. I don’t think I’ve ever smashed a pumpkin
that wasn’t my own. And, so far, nobody’s ever smashed one of mine. But
we did smash an entire pumpkin patch one day from the I-57 overpass
near Dongola.
Looking back, the best part of the whole story is where all those pumpkins
came from in the first place. Mike and I thought we had destroyed that first
pumpkin. But it turns out, we planted it, instead.
It just goes to show you… one year’s mess may grow into something
bigger, better, and more beautiful the next.
Be well. Stay well. Happy Pumpkin Season.
Francis Pass
P.S. – Did you know the jack-o’-lantern tradition is tied to an old Irish legend
about a scoundrel named Stingy Jack? True story. Look it up.
