Katie Pumpkinhead’s Pumpkin Patch

 For as long as I can remember, I’ve referred to Thanksgiving as my least favorite holiday. (Though honestly, in adulthood, I think that’s actually New Year’s; When you’re not a partier and consider the calendar your mortal enemy, what’s the point?) As a child I found it boring, especially in comparison to both Halloween and Christmas, the holidays it was jammed in between, and as an adult I find it exhausting and pointless. I don’t really even like the food all that much.  But, I can’t help but acknowledge the fact that I also cling to it a little, as autumn’s final breath. Christmas didn’t take over as quickly when I was younger as it does now. Halloween ended, and autumn slowly, more gradually, faded away into a more dismal version of itself, with grayer skies, browner leaves, and less magic. Ghosts, black cats, witches, spiders, and skeletons disappeared from lawn displays, while pumpkins and scarecrows remained. On some level they seemed almost tired…I think I thought of ...

  Thanksgiving is the day that autumn finally throws its now-brittle, bare hands up in defeat. The remaining ghosts of Halloween are pulled back into the Netherworld, as if they are guests who have overstayed their welcome. Thanksgiving is the day the pumpkins get their final chance, if they managed to survive post-Halloween. They sit at their doorsteps, knowing their days are now really numbered, and they will be discarded, or left to rot, unnoticed.  Autumn remains for another month, but it is tired now. Tired of fighting, tired of screaming and barely being heard. Thanksgiving is the day that autumn surrenders. The day that autumn whispers into the wind for one final time,  "I'm still here." Only a few of us hear it. And those few of us know that's it's not  truly  over yet.  But Thanksgiving is a day that feels like a death.  The death of autumn for another year.  There is a finality to it now, and we mourn.

  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...

 I went for a walk this morning. The last time I took this exact same route was on the evening of October 29th, and it felt like being in a movie. The sun was setting, the leaves were reaching peak color, and everyone’s Halloween decorations were up and running. I felt perfectly alive in my surroundings, and like anything could happen. At times I felt like I was in some sort of opening scene for a new installment of a movie like Trick ‘r Treat.  There was an anticipation in the air that reminded me of how I used to feel as a child, when my father used to “patrol the streets” on the night before Halloween, and I could just feel the spookiness and excitement of what was to come. It was a sign that everyone was finally feeling the way I do all year round, almost as if the universe was giving me one huge gift. I don’t think there’s anything else quite like the magic of that time just before Halloween, when everything just glows and radiates. It truly feels like anything can happen...

 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...

 It’s that time of year again. The time when Halloween “ends” to the layperson, and even some of the spookiest people take a two-month break to obsess over Christmas. It’s the damndest thing, how, as early as the stroke of midnight on November first in some cases, the world transforms, seemingly forgetting that Halloween ever happened, into a sugar-coated, red-and-green, fairy-lit wonderland, while some of the leaves haven’t even fallen from their trees yet. It’s like a switch flips, the opposite of a blackout, and about ninety-percent of the world gets brainwashed. I scroll through my social media feeds and wonder where my kindred spirits went. No, enjoying Christmas as well as Halloween does not make you any less of a spooky community member, but for some of us, it’s depressing to see. We gather to keep Halloween alive all year round, yet, if you were to scroll through my Instagram home page right now, you might get the impression that my favorite holiday is actually Christmas. T...

  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...