Katie Pumpkinhead’s Pumpkin Patch

  Late November reminds us that, no matter how beautiful the fall season is, the truth is, everything around us is dying. Things look so vibrant and alive in October that it’s easy to forget that fact. The world is alight with the colors of a happy, cozy fire. What could be more celebratory than that? Late November, though. That is a different type of fall. The once-colorful leaves, ablaze in shades of orange and red and yellow, are now all brown and withered. Most of them have fallen now, but the ones that haven’t are lonely and brittle, clinging to their trees by the thinnest of thread. It paints a desperate picture, watching those last little leaves cling to life. The color has gone out of them and yet they hang on, as if afraid of being forgotten.  The clock ticks on, from Halloween, to Thanksgiving, and now nearing December. The trees begin to illuminate again, but this time artificially, as the residents of the homes they surround dutifully attach lights to their branche...

 Since yesterday was National Paranormal Day, I started thinking about paranormal experiences I’ve had, and if any of them might be worth talking about. Sadly, most of them are pretty basic. I really don’t think stories of seeing the ghosts of my cats running around the house are worth a whole post. However, there was one very strange thing that happened to me when I was younger, that may or may not have actually been paranormal, but I think it makes a pretty interesting story regardless.  When I was little, my paternal grandparents owned a house in upstate New York, in the literal middle of nowhere. My mother referred to the area as “the boonies”, and always seemed a bit creeped out by it. Rightfully so, at least in my childhood mind. The house was very big, very old, and very spooky. It gave the impression that it was from an entirely different time period. Even though it was a house that had apparently been in my family for years, it was hard to imagine its past without con...

  There is a time when the world becomes as still and cold as death. If you stand outside on one of these gray, dismal days, you will hear everything and nothing at the same time.  The silence is eerie. Deafening in the way you can almost hear echoes from a world you can’t see.  The only movement is the blowing of the wind. It sings to you in a different way than it would on a breezy spring afternoon, or when cutting through the summer heat. It’s calling you; warning you. You may never know which. You recall a time when you were a child, and you looked out the window, as a sparkling dust blew off a nearby snowdrift, and you thought that maybe, on this special, magical day, as that’s what snow days always were back then, you could actually see the wind.  You grew up to know better. The wind is invisible. Never seen, but always felt. But it isn’t the wind that’s with you now. As you stand in the stillness, taking in the eerie calm of an event that is the perfect duet o...

When I was very young, sometimes the changing of the seasons would take me by surprise. I didn’t quite have the rhythm of things down yet. As I got older, I learned the habits of everyone and everything around me relating to Halloween. I knew which neighbors decorated first. I knew when the leaves would start changing. I knew when things would start appearing in stores. To this day I have it pretty much down to a science, and you might argue that if I’d put half the effort into anything else that I have into Halloween, I’d be some sort of highly successful corporate executive, or something. But that’s not me. Anyway, one day, when I was about six years old, I went for a walk around the neighborhood with my grandfather. This was a fairly regular thing we did, when he lived with us, but it was always a fun time. My grandfather encouraged my imagination and inquisitive side like no one else. There was always something new to discover, even if we’d walked the same path a hundred times. And...

I have a real “thing” about trick-or-treat pails. My parents had a pumpkin pail for me since before I was born. One of those old blow molds, with a puffy witch on the back. The pumpkin’s facial features were bumpy; tons of raised little dots stippled in his eyes, nose, and mouth. His teeth were more square than the ones you see today, and his handle was thicker. I’m not sure what ever happened to him, but I know he got a lot of use from me between the ages of four and seven. When I was eight, however, what can only be described as a life-altering trick-or-treat pail event  happened. The year was 1995. I’m not sure what month it was, but I’m thinking it was teeny bit on the “early” side for Halloween things. I walked into WalMart with my parents and my maternal grandfather, who lived with us at the time, and, like any kid, immediately found some stuffed animal that I wanted someone to buy for me. My grandfather agreed to it without much coaxing; that’s just how he was. But then, we ...

This may come as a shock, but my second-favorite holiday is, and always has been, Valentine’s Day. It’s one of those things I could never really explain. As a child, I loved seeing the decorations, looking at the cute things for sale,  receiving little cards from classmates that otherwise wouldn’t give me a second thought, and, possibly above all else, trying to make sentences out of the little conversation heart candies. I’d spend countless hours at the kitchen table, trying to make a love note that said something like “Hey You. Let’s Kiss. Be Mine. Love You.” Terribly romantic stuff, I know. As I got older, it became sort of the “in thing” to hate Valentine’s Day, especially if you were single, but even at the loneliest points in my life, I could never bring myself to do such a thing. I don’t think I ever saw the holiday as being exclusively about romantic love. For me it was always about just love and happiness in general. Be it romantic love, friendship, family, a pet,...

Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved pumpkins. Not all pumpkins can last forever, though. So there came a day when one of her pumpkins started to rot. Luckily, the girl had a beloved sister. Maybe they weren’t connected by blood, but they were bonded together by mutual understanding and acceptance. Her sister carved the pumpkin into a tiny jack o’lantern for the girl and all of her spooky Halloween friends. “Where did the pumpkin go?” Little Horus the ghost asked one night. Calling upon Sam to come and investigate.  “Something ate him!” said Sam. “A raccoon, most likely. I do hope it was a nice meal.” “And now” said Sam “I have a nice hat!”

There are some people who toss out their pumpkins almost the very second that Halloween ends. There are some that let them hang around until Thanksgiving, and then promptly dispose of them, because Heaven forbid we have pumpkins at Christmas. As you can probably imagine, I am neither of these. I believe in holding onto a pumpkin, and keeping it in sight, until the day comes that it’s squishy, moldy, or otherwise rotten. My record holder lasted until exactly Halfoween (that’s May 1st on the Gregorian calendar) before having to be put out to pasture. That said, we lost one yesterday. The first pumpkin of the 2019 season to depart for whatever the pumpkin version of the Rainbow Bridge might be called. (Rotting Bridge?)  Our dearly departed was purchased on my vacation to Delaware last September, from a little farm called Fifer Orchards. She (yes, she was a she, as she eventually wound up with a drawn-on face with eyelashes most human women would kill for) was know...