Katie Pumpkinhead’s Pumpkin Patch

  The most amazing thing happened to me, on a Saturday afternoon.  The date was August 30th, just two days before Labor Day; the start of September, and, thankfully, the unofficial (but official, in my book) end of summer.  I wound up at a local toy shop, coming away with some tiny plushies. (Two of them Christmas themed, ironically, as I am working toward finding the magic in all things once more .) As I exited the store, something caught my eye beyond the fence leading to the next residential street.  A very tall pumpkin man seemed to be walking toward a house. My mind snapped back to when I was six years old, the very first time the Great Pumpkin came to visit me. How I'd heard him in the night, a candle rattling around in his head as he did his work, ensuring the happiest of Halloweens for the truest of believers. How special it felt to know I was one of his Chosen.  I'd always hoped to thank him one day. I quietly tiptoed around the fence, out into the narr...

  It was the one gloomy day we really had all October. It had been unseasonably warm. So sunny. The atmosphere of Halloween, of   'spooky season', if you will, was nearly lost.  But that day was different. Good things loomed on the horizon for me. I was about to go off in celebration of my favorite holiday, in my favorite place. If I was lucky, which I was, I might complete the final leg of a particular piece of my healing journey on that trip. I don't know that I've ever been more excited. I called my mother that morning, as I took a walk around the block. Her birthday was the next day. We talked about everything, but mostly how happy I was.  It felt like magic. I came home and sat out in the yard, looking around as I always do, taking in one last glimpse of my home in October. It's always so strange to look at anything, any place, and think, ' Next time I'm here, it won't be October anymore.' I may as well say: Next time I'm here's I won...

 Five years ago today, I started this blog.  I've never truly been one for "New Year's resolutions", or New Year's at all, really, but just before 2020, I promised myself that I would start blogging again. I've loved to write since I was six years old. I very clearly remember the first little "picture book" I put together. I had actually just watched an episode of Lamb Chop's Play-Along,  where Shari Lewis gave instructions on how to make a little flip book of sorts of a girl jumping rope. I've always been a DIY disaster, so my attempt at recreating this little scene did not go according to plan. It frustrated me, but I somehow got the idea to turn it into a story that I titled "Jill's Bike". I don't remember the specifics of the story, but I believe it was about a girl, obviously named Jill, getting frustrated with her attempts to jump rope, and finally deciding to go and ride her bike instead. It was a short little story, ...

 Sometimes I truly feel like this is the hardest point on the road back to Halloween. I spend November mourning, and soaking up what is left of autumn. The remnants of Halloween still linger, though not as much as I wish that they would. December brings the inevitable start of Christmas, despite that fact that many have been locked in since the second the clock struck midnight on November 1st. It becomes my battle, in a way, to keep Halloween alive when everyone is so distracted. To be a voice for those of us who, maybe, don't find Christmas time quite as merry. I am a safe space, not only for myself, but to the others that need Halloween as much as I do.  It's hard not to get distracted. As December descends into its final week before the supposed "big day", I get lost in nostalgia. I don't, necessarily, want to fall down the Christmas rabbit hole, the way Jack Skellington did, but I think about it. And the thought, the memory, becomes all-consuming for a few day...

Do I rush the seasons? Probably. Autumn has always been the only season for me. The other seasons have their moments, some more than others, but I never feel as alive as I do in September and October. I don't necessarily mean to wish time away, but I can't help but yearn for what sets my heart ablaze, whether it's the dead of winter, the start of spring, or a day those unlike myself would deem 'perfect beach weather'.  Everyone has things they love, things they surround themselves with to make the most out of life. Mine just happens to be 'seasonal'.  Even as Halloween becomes more popular within mainstream society, so many people still don't understand the desire to hold onto that feeling all year round. Sometimes, even those within the Halloween community act like it takes away from things somehow, while I know I'd be miserable if I didn't live my life the way I do. I have tried to give it up, a few different times for a few different reasons, ...

  It's hard, sometimes, not to feel like a costumed clown, out in a world that you feel no real connection to, except for during that one specific time.  I wonder, sometimes, am I the fool? Or is it everyone else? Do I sit behind a billowing black veil, unable to see past the shadows, or is it that no one else really sees me, or even the potential within themselves to be more than they are? Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke, to fit in for a season and then be cast out once again.  But how, I must ask, can it be foolish to simply live your own truth? To do what makes you happy, regardless of how others perceive you?  Perhaps I will sit behind this veil forever then, or at least until my time comes again. I don't think it's foolish, at all.

  The shadows in the cemetery that day were unlike anything I'd ever seen before. It was more than a cloudy afternoon. It felt ominous, like a warning. A warning I should have heeded ages ago, if I'm honest. I look back on every tear shed, every whispered word, every time I should have put a stop to a desperate fairytale that was spinning out of control. I question my sanity, when I look back on it. Who was I? Or perhaps, who was I  trying  to be, and for what purpose?  Why was I looking for something I'd had all along?  I'll never forget how blue the sky was, the moment hope returned.  I had to shut my eyes to see clearly, but when I opened them again, the world was vivid, as if that shadowy night never happened. Or, at the very least, happened somewhere far, far away.  As I finally stood up again, I nearly tripped over my own feet, like a newborn animal. Rebirth, it seems, was the theme of the day. I felt something catch me, holding me steady once mo...

 The December pumpkin is tired. The December pumpkin has been living in fear. A nagging fear since the very dawn of November 1st, as the world around them turned into something they didn’t recognize. Beautiful, natural colors replaced with blinding, manufactured lights. Their brethren rotted, or simply discarded, as men made of snow that has not yet fallen take their place. A forgotten world, that just a short time ago, brought joy to so many. The December pumpkin has been told, for so long now, that their time is up. That they shouldn’t exist in this world beyond October. They’re not needed, unimportant. Just succumb to the rot. Fall in line. Surely a pumpkin existing beyond October should have no identity of its own.  There are, of course, many pumpkins who fall victim to this mentality once October has passed. They rot. They crumble. They roll over to make way for Santa Claus and whatever menagerie of colorful creatures he brings with him. For some, there is no turning back...

 I saw a movie once; I think it was some variation of Barbie. In this movie a fairy realm existed, all the time, invisible to the naked eye. Only when the characters wore special glasses, could they see the true magic around them, the magic that the fairies saw every day without effort. I don't know when or why I watched this movie, I'm thinking I may have been babysitting a child, likely the niece of my ex, but I can tell you it's always made me think of Halloween, and the things I've struggled to put into words for years and years.  I went for a walk yesterday, and the thing that struck me so hard about the world around me was the sudden familiarity of it. I think a lot about a walk I took on October 29th of last year, and the sights I saw. Every walk or drive I took between then and now, I saw the echoes of these creatures and these sights. The residual feeling of something that was and would eventually be again. I don't know if other people's Halloween decor...

The start of autumn, to me, always feels like seeing something in real life that you've seen in a dream. I remember once, during one of my many, many dreams about trick-or-treating on a day other than October 31st, seeing a house. I think the house, in the dream, was owned by a vampire man with a yard full of bats. Sometime later, I was in another state visiting family, and, because my father was in training for a marathon at the time, he insisted we go for a walk. On that walk that night, I saw a house that greatly resembled the one from my dream. It invoked a similar emotion, and lit up a spark inside of me, of excitement and curiosity. I believe this was the first time I ever experienced that, seeing something from a dream in reality, but it certainly wasn't the last.  I don't remember all of my dreams, but the ones I do remember tend to stay with me. The imagery, the emotions, the general feeling of it.  And autumn itself is very similar.  It's no secret that I thin...

  It's September 9th and I've spent the day depressed. Yesterday was my birthday. I briefly think about the fact that when I was younger, on the internet, I always said my birthday was the 9th rather than the 8th, because back then, giving out personal information online was a terrifying idea.  It's funny how things change. My birthday this year, well, it was a disaster. And that had everything to do with how hot and sunny it was.  I've never considered myself a summer baby. September is fall, whether it's the 1st or the 30th. The last stepping stone on the way to October; one of two months that truly feels similar to it. September the Hopeful, and November the Mournful.  But I guess this year, Mother Nature just had to tell me I was wrong. I won't forgive the demon summer for striking me down on what was supposed to be my special day. Seasonal depression can only be endured for so long. Tonight, though, I step outside, and the wind picks up. It sounds like a ho...

  It’s truly a strange feeling to look at something and think “I can’t wait to watch you die.” But yet, as the Gregorian months of April and May drone on, propelling us closer to summer with every passing hour, as the leaves emerge and everything becomes an endless sea of green, lightly peppered with other colors that seem manufactured even if they aren’t, that is all I can think. I can’t wait to watch them die. Green leaves are so boring. And the world is so green in the spring. It seems like the decor of a minimalist, married to one color scheme, clean but blah . And I am anything but a minimalist. I don't understand why spring and summer are considered so beautiful; why they make people seem to feel so alive.  I can't wait to watch them die. As I look up at the thick, green leaves, remembering a restaurant I frequented as a child that was built to look like a rainforest, I start to picture them in all sorts of vibrant hues of orange, yellow, red, even brown. I can't wait...

  I don't think I ever understood the world's obsession with spring. Perhaps it's because I've always found new beginnings ominous, as opposed to exciting. You could say I'm averse to change. But then, autumn is a time of change as well, isn't it? Regardless of the reason, I never understood what is so exciting about baking sun and bright skies. Or how the flowers, in shades of pink, purple, yellow...or the green grass and leaves, for that matter, were supposedly more beautiful, more inviting, than the explosions of different shades of orange against a spooky gray sky.  Most people want to fast forward to this time of year, but I wish I could fast-forward through it. Spring and summer...what is so lovely to the rest of the world, is a time of physical and mental exhaustion for me. It's a strange thing, when I really think about it. The countdown to Halloween is longest in the winter months, as the clock resets. We cling to the memories of last Halloween, so ...

  It's the weekend after Valentine's Day, and a little girl sits quietly in her bedroom, going through the valentines she received, earlier in the week. Everyone in the class had made a mailbox, and everyone in the class was supposed to give valentines to everyone else. Maybe it was silly. Maybe it was calendar-driven nonsense, but for this little girl, it was special. Valentine's Day wasn't like the days in gym class where the teachers let students choose teams. She would often hear the kids that were chosen before her, whisper to the team captain not to pick her, until she was the last one standing. And Valentine's Day wasn't like when the teacher made everyone pair up for projects, and she'd find herself working alone, or third-wheeling a pair of best friends that she was assigned to when no one would choose her. Valentine's Day was the one day of the school year that everyone had to be included. The one day of the year when all of the cliches about f...

 January is, perhaps, the strangest time on the countdown to Halloween. The classic cliche of "so close, yet so far." So hopeful, yet so hopeless. Sure, we can now say "this Halloween"...but it feels further away than ever, as all the remnants of last Halloween have gone for good. November hurts, because the countdown resets then. So many days, weeks, months to go until the world transforms again. An entire year. And yet, it somehow doesn't seem so far away, as the sky clouds over in mourning and the remaining decorations, maybe forgotten, maybe triumphant, move in a sudden breeze as if to say, "It did happen. It was real. "  These little scraps of leftover Halloween are the strangest combination of sadness and hope. It feels so far away, yet so close at the same time. As if the door hasn't shut quite yet. If December doesn't slam the door in your face, though, January certainly does. Any stray pumpkin that may have survived November, Thanksgiv...

  It is no secret that I loathe the summer time. With every sunrise I pray for its death, unable to find a redeeming quality in the scorching heat and blinding sun. People flock to the beaches to soak it in, and all I wonder to myself is “Why?” It’s something I really can’t make myself see the other side of.  And yet, when I go for a walk on the morning of the calendar date of November 19th, I find myself coming upon the gate of a local beach. I have lived near this lake community for over four years now. I know that this beach is here, I spend countless summer afternoons wondering why people want to cram like sardines into it, and yet, somehow, on this morning, just shy of three weeks since my beloved Halloween, it occurs to me that I’ve never truly looked at it. Before I seem to know what my feet are doing, just moments ago trying to lead me to the house where a pair of flying ghosts had roamed back in October, they are now carrying me to the edge of the beach’s gate. I peer...

 If you’ve followed me on social media long enough, you’ll probably recall me mentioning a song I made up as a child, titled “The Halloween Flame Is Still Burning.”  This post  is probably where I’ve talked about in the most detail.  I was around eight or nine years old, thinking about Halloween as usual, even though it was spring time, and of course, what is the thought of Halloween for someone like me, without the accompanying thought of post-Halloween depression?  “The Halloween Flame Is Still Burning” was about the combination of sadness that Halloween was over, at least to those around me, but also the burst of hope and intrigue that came from seeing Halloween decorations still out in the wild, even after the day itself had passed. Sadly, I don’t think I ever actually wrote the song down. I’ve spent probably sad amounts of time trying to remember it, usually during the month of November, but only a few lines have ever found their way back to me. The song wa...

  A skeleton is once again just a reminder of death. Are you offended, or scared? Did you forget what it meant just days ago? Every leaf is now just a dried-out inconvenience. Not long ago you traveled just to watch them all die. It's so hypocritical, when you think about it. Those pumpkins on the porch decay, and you say they have to go. There's no place in the world for their unique, wary faces anymore. What's different is no longer beautiful. You remember you hate spiders, you think black cats bring bad luck. Do you even remember Halloween night, once you've extinguished the last Jack O'Lantern flame?  Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one without seasonal amnesia. Or maybe I'm just the only one brave enough to say, "This is who I am", as I stand tall, trying to achieve the scarecrow's confidence, still dressed in orange and black. The skeletons still dance for me. Even the rotten pumpkins glow.  Even the brownest leaves are beautiful to me...

  There is an image that many of us keep in our minds, of a child waiting for Santa Claus on the evening of December 24th.  Many of us can recall being that child, jumping up hopefully at every slight little sound, thinking it may be reindeer on the roof.  These memories and images represent our belief in magic in its truest form.  And for many people, this goes away after so many years. I no longer wait to see a sleigh flying past me, but for me, magic...anticipation...is still very much a part of my life.  On the evening of September 30th I look outside. I catch sight of a leaf with a tint of orange or yellow or red. I feel a chill in the air. A strange aura of spookiness. I see pumpkins on porches and can almost sense the excitement of the people that placed them there.  The greatest gifts of my year don't come from a man on a sleigh with a sack full of items.  I wake up on the morning of October first and run into the waiting arms of the time of ye...