It doesn’t matter how many artificial (or, as I like to call them, “immortal”) pumpkins one possesses, there is always something truly magical about the appearance of the first real pumpkins of the season.
I tend to react to pumpkins in that cliche way that stereotypical women in the media might react to shoes. I spot them from afar, run to them like a moth to a flame, and discover, sometimes immediately and sometimes after much scrutiny, the one that speaks to me the most. I just know the pumpkin I have to have when I see it.
This year, my first real pumpkin sighting was actually at work, and naturally, I picked one out immediately and had it held in the back room for me until I was ready to leave with it.
When I was younger, I normally waited until October or close to it to adopt a real pumpkin. My biggest concern, or rather, my parents’ biggest concern since they were the ones spending the money, was that it wouldn’t last until Halloween. But in my adult life, I figure, why not start enjoying the company of real pumpkins as soon as I possibly can? I’ve learned they can last a lot longer than expected, and there’s always the option of getting more, which I’m sure I will regardless.
I think one of the reasons I was hesitant to leave Halloween decorations up all year round in my younger years was due to fear that it would somehow lessen the magic of what’s considered the actual season, and while I know there are people out there who do operate that way (and that is completely valid), that has never been the case for me.
I may look around my room and see enough to (hopefully) rival The Great Jack O’Lantern Blaze (I wish!) any day of the year, but that doesn’t make it any less special when I hold in my hands the first real pumpkin of the season, feeling the weight of it, that unmistakeable texture of the skin, the hollow sound it makes when tapped on, and of course, the bittersweet knowledge that it will only be here for a short time, before it’s called away by the Gatekeeper to become another Halloween memory.
Such is the life cycle of a real pumpkin, but a fulfilling life it is. I look at them and can’t help but wonder if they know the effects of their siren call, and hope to leave an impact on those whose homes they will haunt for the season and maybe, hopefully, beyond.
I may not remember all of the specific details about the real pumpkins that have been in my presence through the years, but I know that none of my Halloween seasons would have been the same without them. From the tiny ones chosen when my hands weren’t much bigger than they, to the big beauties picked out to be given faces, to the ones that the squirrels devoured before October was even full swing, to the one that sits next to me now, whether chosen from patches or store displays, they all remain a piece of my Halloween history.
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