Pumpkin Wanted
Mr. Pumpkinhead was feeling a little nervous. He was about to start a new job, and to be honest, he had no skills. He’d been buried underground, back when he was a little pumpkin seed. It was hard for him to remember, but it seemed like he was there a long time.
One day, things just seemed right to make a change, so he sprouted a little shoot and burrowed up through the dirt, not knowing what he might find up there.
Soon, he came to open space. It was filled with air and light. He hadn’t been unhappy, resting in the soil, but he hadn’t known that all this existed before.
That sunlight just seemed to invigorate him. He wanted more and more of it. So he reached higher, and soon, he dwarfed the blades of grass that had towered over him when he first poked out of the ground.
More! More light! That’s what he wanted.
And so he unfurled leaves to catch as much of it as he could.
He grew like that for a while before he had the idea of sprouting a head.
All he knew was how to be a pumpkin.
One day when he was walking around the pumpkin patch, he saw a piece of paper nailed to a stake. He couldn’t read the words, but he recognized the picture, and figured out that someone wanted to hire a pumpkin. What luck! Being a pumpkin was the only skill he had.
And that is how Mr. Pumpkinhead started his blog.
Friends
Mr. Pumpkinhead was just standing in the pumpkin patch, when he heard his friend Rocky call out to him.
Mr. Pumpkinhead! he shouted. For an enchanted beach stone, he had a loud voice. It’s kind of surprising when you consider that beach stones don’t have lungs. Maybe that’s where the enchanted part comes in. Are you here?
Mr. Pumpkinhead parted the corn stalks that lined the pumpkin patch like a fence, and saw Rocky standing in the open field.
It was a lazy kind of day, and Mr. Pumpkinhead had no plans other than soaking up the delicious sunshine. Still, he was happy to see his friend.
I’m right here, he said simply, with a huge grin on his face. His expression wasn’t always a good indicator of his mood, since it was carved right into his head, but in this case, it was accurate. What did you have in mind?
I don’t know. Are you hungry?
Mr. Pumpkinhead hadn’t thought of it until Rocky mentioned it. Come to think of it, he began, I could really go for some Macaroni and Cheese. The two started down the path through the woods. It was a well worn route to the convenience store which stocked Mr. Pumpkinhead’s favorite food. The hungrier he got, the faster he walked, and soon he was running through the woods.
Slow down! Rocky called out.
Sorry, I forgot you have short legs, the enchanted Jack-O-Lantern said.
I can run as fast as you can, Rocky said. I was worried about you. If you trip on one of these roots, you will smash your head on the ground.
We all have our challenges in life, Mr. Pumpkinhead explained. His craving for that hot gooey pasta and cheese sauce was stronger than his caution on the trail.
If we go slow, Rocky suggested, we could enjoy the beautiful scenery here in the woods.
We can enjoy that on the way home.
We’re almost there anyway, Rocky said, and they sprinted the last leg of the journey, working up even more of an appetite in the process.
Thanks for being concerned about my head, Mr. Pumpkinhead said as he gulped the last of his lunch.
Thanks for being concerned about my legs.
Wheeeee!
One day, Mr Pumpkinhead was in the pumpkin patch, daydreaming. The clouds that floated by above him looked like animals. They looked like really big animals. A whale. An elephant. A rhinoceros. A really big cat.
He was pulled right out of his reverie by the voice of his friend Rocky, the enchanted Lake Superior beach stone. Rocky was calling, Mr. Pumpkinhead!!!
It took Mr. Pumpkinhead a minute to gather his thoughts and stand up, he was so relaxed. A dribble of pumpkin juice trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it with his leafy hand.
He focused his eyes in The direction of the voice, but Rocky was hard to see. He was a pretty small stone, and the glare of the afternoon sun washed out the details.
By the time Mr. Pumpkinhead saw his little friend, a worker came by with a lawn mower, and ran right over the spot where Rocky stood.
With a loud bang, he flew out of the side discharge chute like a bullet.
He sailed right past Mr. pumpkinhead’s head. As he ducked to avoid being hit, he heard Rocky scream,
Wheeeeeeeeeee!
Full Moon
A shuffling sound awakened Mr. Pumpkinhead one night. A full moon shone down on the pumpkin patch. He rose to the full height of his vine body and could see something moving near the tomato plants.
The pale light cast deep shadows in the blue air, but it was still too dark to see clearly. He lit the candle in his head, and the beam projected triangular puddles of light from his eyes and nose.
Sylvia, the enchanted spaghetti squash, walked in circles, muttering.
Mr. Pumpkinhead approached her and asked, Is everything ok?
My head is full of noodles, she replied.
I can’t find my way out of the garden.
Where are you going in the middle of the night? he asked.
It’s day! she exclaimed. Look at how bright it is!
It’s a full moon, he reassured, and helped her back to her bed where she fell asleep amongst the other gourds.
Now Mr. Pumpkinhead was wide awake and he was craving macaroni and cheese!
All he needed
For Pam
There were other vegetables growing in the garden next to the pumpkin patch. Asparagus, cauliflower, tomatoes and beans, fenced in by a perimeter of corn stalks.
Along one side, there was a bed of flowers. The roses were beautiful, and they knew it. They were prickly, blooming high up off the ground, but the poppies bent down in a friendly way and had no thorns to distance them.
Mr. Pumpkinhead was never lonely.
He had everything he needed. Sunshine, rain and dirt. That was all he needed.
Other than macaroni and cheese.
Sunshine, Rain, Dirt and mac and cheese.
That was all he needed.
And his best friend Rocky. Sunshine, rain, dirt, macaroni and cheese and Rocky.
That was all he needed.
One day, Mr. Pumpkinhead heard something. It was a muffled voice. He looked around, but couldn’t see who was speaking.
He followed the sound, and had to get down with his head on the ground to hear it well.
Somebody was buried alive in the garden!
I’ll help you! Mr. Pumpkinhead yelled into the dirt, and then he started digging. As he cleared the dirt away, the voice became clearer. Soon, he uncovered a potato.
Are you alright? Mr Pumpkinhead asked, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be buried underground.
Yes, I’m fine, the potato said. I’m at home in the earth. I just wanted to see more. I want to see the horizon, open cloudscapes, trees, water.
Mr. Pumpkinhead smiled. He always smiled. A permanent grin was carved into his face. But he was truly happy, because the most beautiful things in the world are free.
This was all he needed.
Shadow of a Unicorn
The afternoon sun beat down on Mr. Pumpkinhead as he sat in the pumpkin patch one day. He was just looking at things. Not only things, but he observed the relationships between things. A group of pines was silhouetted against a light sky. The trees stood close to each other so that their bottom branches merged together from his perspective. The trees were wider at the bottom, so the blue sky space between them looked like blue upside down pine trees in the negative space. He looked at this for quite a long time as the sun moved through the sky, and the shadows changed.
As he sat, taking in the light and how it hit objects, the shadow of a unicorn came into view. Mr. Pumpkinhead sat very still.
Where there is a shadow of a unicorn, there must be a unicorn!
He wanted to see this, so he didn’t move for fear of frightening it away.
He could see from the shadow that the unicorn had a curved horn on the top of its head. It didn’t move either. Perhaps, Mr. Pumpkinhead thought, it wants to see an enchanted Jack-O-Lantern, and it doesn’t want to scare ME away.
So he turned, and as he did, the unicorn turned, too. It was gone. Vanished in a fraction of a second. That’s when Mr. Pumpkinhead noticed that its shadow remained.
How could this be?
Furthermore, he noticed that when he moved, the unicorn’s shadow moved.
He thought for a while about this mystery, and then the truth dawned on him.
He was a unicorn!
Under the Ice
It was winter in the pumpkin patch. Most of the vegetables had gone to warmer places. Mr. pumpkinhead simply lit the candle in his head, and stayed relatively warm.
The nights were long, and the wind made a whistling sound as it whipped through the bare branches of a gnarled old tree that stood nearby. Sometimes the breeze blew his candle out, and he had to relight it. The cold didn’t bother him so much, but he did feel lonely.
Sylvia had gone on vacation somewhere. He couldn’t remember where, but the place boasted temperatures of 350 degrees. Wouldn’t that feel nice?
She’d come back in the spring, the way she always did, growing under protective leaves until she was big enough to come out of the shadows, and into the full light of the summer sun.
But spring was a long way off.
Mr. Pumpkinhead sat under a full moon, whose light reflected off the frozen river, and the snowy banks.
The gnarled old tree was silhouetted against the pale blue sky. Its leafless branches looked like twisted fingers reaching for the stars that twinkled with a cold light.
Mr. Pumpkinhead thought he saw a green leaf dancing in the blast of wind.
He looked closer, and saw that it was a fish. A fish, swimming in the winter air.
Silly fish. Didn’t it know that it was out of place? Why didn’t it go back where it belonged… in the school under the ice?
Gracias Amigo
One afternoon Mr. Pumpkinhead was thinking about how he would really like a bowl of macaroni and cheese. He wasn’t planning on eating any macaroni and cheese, he was just thinking about it.
Do you know those kind of days? When you’re so comfortable, you don’t want to get up, even for your favorite food? This was that kind of afternoon.
Mr. Pumpkinhead watched a butterfly flit about through the pumpkin patch. It was so graceful and quick, with multi colored wings. He didn’t have that kind of energy. It landed on a blade of grass, and sat very still. Mr. Pumpkinhead sat very still, too, and his eyes grew heavier.
He imagined what it would be like if he could sit on a blade of grass like that, the thin stalk barely bending under his weight.
If he had had eyelids, they would surely have closed at this point. But his eyes, like his nose and single-toothed grin, were carved right through his skin and rind.
The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps, and Mr. Pumpkinhead was pulled right out of his daydream.
An exotic looking fruit stood before him. She looked a little bit like a pear.
Welcome to the pumpkin patch, he said, always a friendly host.
Pumpkin patch?! I don’t think so! she said, snapping her leafy fingers.
This is a guava patch now!
Mr. Pumpkinhead didn’t know what to say, but he improvised. Yes! And welcome to the guava patch.
Gracias, amigo she said.
With that, she turned and walked out the way she had come, leaving our pumpkin headed friend a bit confused, and mumbling
What was I thinking about?
Calabash
Mr. Pumpkinhead dreamed of a plant whose fruit was full of macaroni and cheese. It was a black calabash that would absorb the heat of the sun. All you had to do was crack the top off and dig in.
I’m going to make a million dollars off this! he told Rocky the next morning.
Rocky, being a rock… more specifically, an enchanted Lake Superior beach stone, was not impressed by money. He had no use for it.
What would you buy with a million dollars? he asked dubiously.
Macaroni and cheese!
Rocky looked puzzled, and asked, Why not just eat it all yourself?
This sounded like a great idea.
Let’s have some! Rocky suggested.
Another great idea.
This is when Mr. Pumpkinhead realized that there was a problem in his plan.
A Pop of Color
One day Mr. Pumpkinhead was paying his respects to some banana skins that had found their way onto the compost pile. He knew the bananas didn’t need their skins anymore, and so he covered them over with a layer of dirt. That way they could enrich the soil to feed the next generation of produce.
Organic matter such as seeds, stems and skins like these would appear from time to time on the heap. Eventually it would disappear, breaking down and incorporating into the fertile black earth.
Mr. Pumpkinhead wondered whether pieces of him might, one day come to rest here.
It was a little sad to contemplate, and yet, it felt hopeful, too.
Volunteer plants sprouted up from the compost on a regular basis. The decorative gourds that had adorned the Thanksgiving table one year came back the next season and the hyacinth, thought to be dead, was thrown into the pile and forgotten until it bloomed in the spring, bringing a pop of color just when the garden needed it most.
Maybe we’ll have bananas here next year.
Mr. Pumpkinhead grinned at the thought of it.
A Rainy Day
Mr. Pumpkinhead woke to a drizzly morning. The dirt in the pumpkin patch was all mud, the churning sky was gray. The rain was steady, but light, and there was little or no wind.
He lit the candle inside his head, and warmed up. Beams of yellow light illuminated the raindrops and reflected off the muddy puddle that had formed on the path in front of him.
Mr. Pumpkinhead loved to listen to the sound of the rain. It was a soothing sound that told him everything was alright. Drops of water close to him fell with individual splashing sounds while the rest of the downpour blended into a gentle orchestra. Beyond that, occasional thunderclaps reverberated through the entire sky.
The poppy heads bobbed and danced to the rhythm of the rain, and the whole garden was happy.
All the plants needed the rain, and they sucked up the water through their roots like drinking straws.
Sylvia, the spaghetti squash, called out to him from across the garden.
Isn’t it a perfect day? she asked.
It was a perfect day. A perfect day to eat macaroni and cheese!
The Great Pumpkin?
Snow fell over night, coating everything in a thick white blanket. Mr. Pumpkinhead thought it was quite cozy, draped in it. His candle glowed through the snowflakes that had built up over his eyes, nose and mouth.
The farmer started his van with the remote from inside the house to let it warm up a little before he brushed the snow off of it.
When some of the other frozen vegetables saw the effect, they thought the Great Pumpkin had arrived at last.
This morning my van did its best jack-o-lantern impression.
Worth it
There was a twisted old tree growing near the pumpkin patch. It had been there far longer than the garden had, and Mr. Pumpkinhead liked to listen to its stories about years gone by.
It told of a time before the farm, when it was just a tiny sapling trying to catch some sunlight in the shifting shade of the larger trees in the woods.
Mr. Pumpkinhead tried to imagine the tilled soil overgrown with tall trees.
Although the maple was ancient, every spring, it popped with young green leaves.
Maple Leaf in Autumn – Watercolor
Now it was autumn, and the leaves were bright red. One by one, they began letting go of the high branches. They giggled as they tumbled through the crisp air. Mr. Pumpkinhead watched them spiraling down, silhouetted against a clear blue sky. Their laughter and squeals of joy made him grin.
One landed softly on the ground next to him, panting, red faced.
That looks like fun! Mr. Pumpkinhead exclaimed.
It was worth it, the colorful leaf said.
What do you mean, worth it?
We only get to do it once.
Aah, Mr. Pumpkinhead said, noticing a carpet of dry, brown leaves lying in the dirt.
It was worth it.
Elopement
for Lisa
One day, the chickens got out of the chicken yard. The dog chased them, and the rooster ended up in the pumpkin patch.
He strutted around, looking for worms or seeds, scratching at the ground with his long, sharp toenails.
Sylvia was nervous. When he crowed, she screamed. He crowed again. She whimpered. He clucked, and that was the end of the conversation.
The soil in the garden was accessible because the dirt had been turned, and the weeds had been pulled out.
There must be something good to eat here, he thought.
When he came upon the compost heap, he grew so excited that he just had to tell the hens about it.
He looked around for a higher roost… something he could stand on to call the other chickens over.
He jumped right up onto Mr. Pumpkinhead and began crowing and flapping his wings. The hens had all been put back into the pen. Just then, a net came down over the rooster, and he was returned to the enclosure, too.
He often told stories of eating aphids off the tomato plants, and the succulent worms that inhabited the compost pile.
Over time, his stories grew.
I ate a whole family of salamanders that I found under a zucchini.
The hens just rolled their beady eyes and scratched the ground looking for bits of cracked corn.
The visit
One afternoon, Mr. Pumpkinhead was visited in the pumpkin patch by the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Probably the most beautiful animal in the world.
It was s a black and white cat. She had a long tail that seemed to have a mind of its own.
For the most part, she carried this tail straight up in the air like a flagpole, but then without warning it would whip or curl.
She walked right up to Mr. Pumpkinhead, who had a huge grin on his face. She put her nose up to his nose and sniffed the rich, charred aroma that lingered after his candle was extinguished. She then rubbed her side against his.
She was warm and soft. She vibrated with a rich and gentle purr.
Everything about her was attractive.
But she didn’t come to see him.
In the herb section of the garden, there was a row of mint. At the end of the row of mint was catnip.
Cousins
For Erin
Mr. Pumpkinhead’s cousin, the jack fruit had the same name as him, except for their last name. I think The Enchanted Jack O LANTERN’s mother was the sister of The Enchanted Jack FRUIT’s father or something. Anyway, they were cousins… Or so they had been told. Sometimes those seeds got all mixed up in the compost pile and, well, you couldn’t always be sure.
Other than being generally roundish, they didn’t resemble each other much at all. It didn’t bother them.
I wouldn’t love you any more if you were smooth and orange, Mr. Pumpkinhead said to Jack one night.
They were cousins. Always had been, always would be.
Here Comes The Sun
For Jane
The clouds parted early one afternoon, and sunlight poured from the sky into the garden. No one enjoyed this more than the watermelon, who referred to the beams as “radiation.”
It clears the negativity out… he said to a beetle who clung to a broad leaf in from of him …makes you radiant!
His head was so smooth and shiny, the rays reflected off of him, illuminating everything nearby.
Even the underside of the rhubarb danced and shimmered in the light he shared.
This is what attracted the beetle to him.
A lot of garden dwellers came to bask in his light, never seeing the pain he felt deep inside his seeds.
Come Here
Mr. Pumpkinhead sat in the garden one morning enjoying the feel of the sun on his rind. It was late summer, and he knew he had to enjoy every warm day that remained.
Rocky was at a skipping stone convention, and Sylvia was wandering off somewhere. When an iridescent dragonfly flew into view, he had no one to point it out to.
It was beautiful, hovering and zipping about in the air over the pumpkin patch.
It shone in the sunlight like a sparkling jewel, and Mr. Pumpkinhead wished he had a friend with him to enjoy the experience together.
Three little gourds grew nearby. Their parent gourds had been cast onto the compost pile after Thanksgiving the year before last.
Mr. Pumpkinhead glanced their direction, and called out, Look at the pretty dragonfly!
The gourds looked up, and for the first time, Mr. Pumpkinhead noticed how much they looked like him. They were roundish and orange, with deep ridges and a very hard, almost wooden feeling rind.
Mr. Pumpkinhead pointed toward the insect with his leafy finger, until the little gourds saw it glimmering against the pale blue sky.
Where is its stem? one of them asked. Yes, how does it connect with the soil? another chimed in.
Come here, he beckoned to the trio.
Even though they didn’t grow from his seeds, he could see that they needed him just as much as he needed them.
Prickly
A thistle grew in the pumpkin patch. It was very prickly, but it looked kind of cool. It had spiky purple hair. Bees came to hang out. Hummingbirds hovered and said he was sweet.
One day, the thistle looked at Mr. Pumpkinhead and said, You’re fat.
Mr. Pumpkinhead didn’t quite know what to say. He knew he was shaped like a pumpkin, and that was the perfect shape for him.
Your Head is empty, the thistle said.
Mr. Pumpkinhead knew this. His rind had been hollowed out.
You’re stupid, the thistle observed.
At first, Mr. Pumpkinhead felt bad. He was smart enough to see that he had light inside him. That he was warm and approachable. Without thorns to keep people away.
Mr. Pumpkinhead realized that he was a complete failure as a thistle, but he was a perfect Jack-O-Lantern.
WTIP BOOK EVENT FEATURE
Rhonda Silence- Fri, 03/15/2019 – 5:23pm
Tim Young is an artist familiar to many of us on the North Shore, either through his signature “fish in a tree” works, his campy online action adventure series Flash Meridian, or any number of projects he has taken though the years.
Tim put his paintbrush and camera aside for a bit and has taken up the pen. He has written and/or compiled works from years past in three books which he published this year.
Tim is launching a Grand Marais book tour, visiting a variety of locations and reading excerpts from all three books, which are My Hand Paints, The Adventures of Flash Meridian and The Adventures of Mr. Pumpkinhead.
Tim invites the public to a reading and book signing on Saturday, March 16 at 3 p.m. at the Cook County Community Center. He has more readings coming up. For information on the books and/or upcoming events, follow his Facebook page.
Mr. Pumpkinhead at Wunderbar Open Stage
Beauty
So this one egg rested in a nest made of straw quite close to the garden. It was a beautiful ivory colored egg, and everyone admired it.
One of the hens sat on it and kept it warm. She turned it, and talked to it, saying it was pretty.
The egg didn’t answer her. For a long time, the egg didn’t feel anything at all.
Very gradually, something started to change. The egg became aware not only of its mother’s care, but also heard the compliments offered by the sheep, ponies, ducks, and even the other chickens.
That was the egg’s purpose. To be beautiful. It had come so easy to the egg.
Still, the egg started to worry. It started to feel fragile. When the hen turned it, the egg wanted to cry out, “Be careful!”
The egg couldn’t say a word.
One night it happened. The beautiful ivory shell cracked. The egg was heartbroken and thought “I’m ruined. My perfect shell is no longer beautiful.”
The egg had a horrible night, worrying about its flaws.
“Good morning!” The hen said when she woke up and saw her new baby chick.
How Did You Get There?
How did you get up there? Mr. Pumpkinhead asked the apple one day. It wasn’t the view that made him ask, although the view from a high tree branch would certainly be nice.
It was that Mr. Pumpkinhead had developed a flat, rough area on his underside… the part that rested on the ground. That part didn’t get any light, and it itched. He tried not to think about it, but that was impossible.
If only he could hang, like the apple, high above the pumpkin patch, he was sure he could be evenly plump and orange, with no rash down there.
How did you get down there? The apple called down to him.
The apple had never told anyone that he was afraid of heights.
Hot
The sun was hot. It beat down on the pumpkin patch. Mr. Pumpkinhead fanned himself with his broad, leafy hand.
The chili pepper parted the leaves, and hung in the full blaze of the afternoon sun.
Be careful! Mr. Pumpkinhead warned. You’ll get sunburned.
The pepper only chuckled.
His bright green skin began to change.
Below the cover of leaves, other plants grew in the cooler shadows. The day lilies linked their roots into a tightly woven mesh.
Each day, the pepper sported more color as he turned from green to orange to deep red.
I love the heat! the pepper said to Mr. Pumpkinhead one day.
He never meant to be intimidating.
Layers
Below the surface of the garden soil, a red onion enjoyed the cool temperatures. That is, until the farmer came through with a shovel, and dislodged her.
Well, hi! Mr. Pumpkinhead greeted, always ready to make a new friend.
The onion was not too happy to be pulled out of the ground, yet she was interested to see things she had never seen before.
Mr. Pumpkinhead remembered the day he unearthed the potato.
The onion was initially in a state of shock, being in a whole new atmosphere. As she looked around, she was inquisitive, taking in the view of the pumpkin patch. After a while, she began to worry about what life would be like above ground. At least it would be an adventure, she thought, and felt more hopeful.
She peeled back layer after layer of her feelings, the way onions do.
Vacation
The orange found himself in a box, far away from home. He was accustomed to the southern heat. It was all he had ever known. He got a nice breeze over his entire body when he hung with the others from a branch high above the floor of the grove. He had been shaded from the sun by leaves. What rain was not diverted by them, felt refreshing on his dimply skin.
He had been traveling a long time in the back of a truck. The longer he traveled, the cooler the air became.
Where are we going? He asked one of his traveling companions one day.
We are going on vacation! The other orange said.
Eventually the truck turned off the highway and sped down a gravel road.
The orange was very surprised when the truck hit a bump, and he went sailing up into the air, and came down softly in an area of dense foliage.
He was tired from his trip, so he fell asleep in the shadows of broad leaves.
The orange had landed in a pumpkin patch.
Energy
One day, Mr. Pumpkinhead got into a conversation with a piece of firewood that had rolled off the stack, or had been dropped… at any rate, it had come to rest near the pumpkin patch.
You wouldn’t know it to look at me, the split log said, but I am full of energy.
Really? Mr. Pumpkinhead asked, doubtfully.
Oh yes, the log answered. I have enough energy to light up the night.
Really?
Mr. Pumpkinhead wasn’t impressed. He just couldn’t picture it.
It’s true, the log insisted. I have enough energy in me to bake you into a pie.
This made Mr. Pumpkinhead uncomfortable, and the firewood knew it.
Not that I’d want to, it continued, I’d rather be made into pencils, or toothpicks, or…
The firewood had a wonderful idea…
POPSICLE STICKS!
I can be anything I want to be!
But deep down, he knew he was firewood.
Floundering
It was a wet day. A very wet day. Thunder rolled, and the rain came down in sheets.
The vegetables in the garden were happy. The squash blossoms closed their petals, and all of the plants drank deeply of the water until they had their fill. Still, the rain came down. The sky was dark gray.
Mr. Pumpkinhead had never seen such a wet day.
He started to get nervous when the soil around him began to erode.
When at last the downpour turned to a drizzle, Mr. Pumpkinhead noticed someone laying in a puddle in front of him. It was a flounder.
Mr. Pumpkinhead had never seen a fish in the garden before. Well, other than the dead goldfish that went into the compost pile.
This fish looked up at him and waved its fin.
What are you doing in the pumpkin patch? Mr. Pumpkinhead finally asked.
I’m always looking for a wet place to lay, the flounder stated, and this is about as wet as it gets.
Mr. Pumpkinhead was happy to meet the fish, but he worried about what would happen when the sun came out, and the soil became dry.
Just then, a flash of lightning cut through the clouds, and the earth trembled in the thunderclap.
I know what you’re thinking, said the fish, but let’s not worry about the future. Let’s enjoy this beautiful day.
Second chance (a true story)
One day, a potato found himself in a dark place. Not under ground, it was a crowded place with air instead of dirt. One side of him was pressed against other potatoes, and the other side was held firmly by a plastic mesh bag. He was uncomfortable. Thirsty. He missed the days he had spent in the garden, absorbing sunlight through his leaves, and protected by rich, nurturing soil.
Now he was forgotten in a kitchen drawer, shriveling.
He sent up shoots, but they found no sunlight. He reached up through the mesh, but his stalks were pale, and the plastic was tight around them.
Still he tried with all his might, to survive.
The person who cooked in the kitchen opened the drawer one day, and felt sorry for the potato who just wanted to live.
He snipped the plastic strands and freed the potato from the bag, being careful not to break the tender shoots.
He put the potato into a planter filled with topsoil.
The potato thought he must be dreaming. He knew it was very rare for someone like him to get a second chance.
In the sunlight and fresh air, the stalks hesitantly turned from white to purple, and then to green. The potato couldn’t believe his fortune. He sprouted tiny leaves, and gained more confidence.
He flourished in that planter, grateful for a second chance.
He knew how fortunate he was, and he grew more beautiful because he knew.
I’m all ears
for Summer
A row of corn grew on one side of the pumpkin patch. One ear of corn thought he was really funny. When the sun beat down in the afternoon, he treated it like a spotlight.
What did the farmer say when he lost his tractor? The ear of corn called out over the garden one day.
The potatoes and onions were happy to be underground. The chili pepper hid in the leaves, and the sunflowers turned their heads.
Mr. Pumpkinhead just sat, exposed, with a vacant grin carved through his rind and had nowhere to hide.
Yeah, you! I’m all ears! He thought this was hilarious. The ear of corn looked right at Mr. Pumpkinhead, and laughed.
So, what did the farmer say when he couldn’t find his tractor?
Mr. Pumpkinhead didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn’t think of an answer.
The corn started giggling so that he could hardly speak. He took a deep breath, and then blurted out the punchline…
He said “Where is my tractor?”
Then the corn burst out laughing. He laughed so hard his kernels started to pop.
Gifts
Mr. Pumpkinhead was just sitting in the grass one day, enjoying the quiet of the afternoon. Summer was winding down, and he knew the leaves would be turning colors soon, and then the snow would fall.
There was still time to enjoy the last green days in the pumpkin patch.
He saw his friend, the cloud, coming across the deep blue sky, and grinned up at him.
The cloud always brought gifts to share with Mr. Pumpkinhead and his friends. On hot days, he brought shade. On dry days, he brought rain. He formed himself into pictures in the sky, entertaining anyone who had the time to watch.
On occasion, the cloud came down close to the ground, obliterating distant objects in cool, refreshing fog. On those mornings, Mr. Pumpkinhead could touch the cloud, and talk with it. On days like today, the cloud was so high up in the sky, they could only smile and wave.
You don’t have to talk all the time to be good friends.
Special
The banana never felt special. He grew in a very large bunch with a lot of other bananas that looked just like him.
Every day, the sun burned hot in the sky, and the banana enjoyed basking in the light and heat. At night, the air was cool, and the stars burned brightly in the sky.
It was a nice life, but like I said, he never felt special. He kind of got lost in the crowd.
Hanging from the tree, he grew, and his deep green skin got gradually lighter.
Growing from the same tree, were large leaves that sometimes provided relief from the scorching rays. They waved in the breeze. The banana thought that would be fun.
Someone came into the jungle one day, and cut the bananas from the tree.
They traveled in a truck, and were separated further before being boxed up and put onto a ship.
Eventually, the banana found himself on a food truck in a big city.
He lived for a while on a shelf with tuna sandwiches, pickles and potato chips. He was the only banana there. By this time, his skin had turned yellow.
One day, he told an apple about his life in the jungle, and his cruise across the ocean.
Wow, said the apple, your life is so much more interesting than mine. I grew in an orchard not far from here.
The banana felt exotic… special. He hadn’t realized how interesting his life story was.
A man visited the food truck, and purchased the banana, which he ate in the car on his way home. He lived on a small farm. After arriving home, he threw the banana peel onto the compost pile next to the pumpkin patch.
Capture the Flag
The zucchini sighed with relief when the farmer picked all the other squash in its row. Maybe it was a leaf that hid it from view. Maybe the glare of the sun blinded the farmer for a second. Whatever the reason, one zucchini escaped being picked.
Where did everybody go? Mr. Pumpkinhead asked a day or two later.
I don’t know, the lone squash said. Maybe they were taken somewhere horrible.
Then again, he wondered if it were somewhere wonderful.
The more he thought about it, the more his mind played tricks on him. Maybe he wasn’t good enough to be picked. What was wrong with him that the farmer would water him and pull out the weeds that grew around him, only to leave him behind?
The squash grew near the garden path. He grew and grew, feeding on the rich soil.
Be honest with me, he said to Mr. Pumpkinhead one day.
Do I look alright to you?
Mr. Pumpkinhead just grinned.
The zucchini continued to grow. He grew so big that he stretched into and across the path. The farmer saw him, of course, and decided to see how big he would get.
The experiment ended abruptly one night when the neighborhood kids played capture the flag, and one of the farmer’s sons ran down the path in the dark.
Drop in
Things often fell from the sky and landed in the pumpkin patch. Raindrops. Hailstones. Leaves.
One day, something hit the dirt with a large thud. The ground shook, and a cloud of dust rose, filling the air before settling back over the garden and everyone in it.
Sylvia screamed, and dirt went into Mr. Pumpkinhead’s carved eyes, nose and mouth, which never stopped grinning.
The impact woke the onions, potatoes and radishes, and nobody could see anything for a while.
After all the dust had settled Mr. Pumpkinhead noticed someone, or something sticking out of the ground.
It wasn’t like anything he had seen before.
It was silver, and had colored flashing lights. It made a beeping sound.
Mr. Pumpkinhead wiped his face the best he could with his leafy hands, and then reached out to wipe Sylvia’s face.
The thing moved. With a whirring sound, an arm extended and pushed it upright.
It was made of metal, but it had a round part on top that looked a bit like a pumpkin or a head. The flashing lights were where eyes should be, and there was something that looked kind of like a mouth.
Mr. Pumpkinhead was in the habit of greeting newcomers to the garden, and so he addressed it.
Hello and welcome! he called out, spitting a cloud of dirt in the process.
Nice that you could drop in!
Antennae protruded, or unfolded from the… thing? It buzzed and clicked. It’s lights flashed.
Thank you it said in a robotic voice, and explained that it had dropped from space, and was on a mission to learn about Earthlings.
A pumpkin is a cultivar of a squash plant, most commonly of Cucurbita pepo, that is round with smooth, slightly ribbed skin, and most often deep yellow to orange in coloration.
Spaghetti squash or vegetable spaghetti, is a group of cultivars of Cucurbita pepo subsp. pepo.
Firewood is any wooden material that is gathered and used for fuel.
The chili pepper is the fruit of plants from the genus Capsicum which are members of the nightshade family.
And so on…
Pink
For Raymond
The sky was gray, and an eerie mist hung over the pumpkin patch one evening. Wisps of fog draped themselves over the mound of compost, the rocks, and Mr. Pumpkinhead.
Somebody walked into the garden, and the movement caused the mist to rise, swirling into the air.
The stranger had bright pink skin, green spikes, and was unlike anyone Mr. Pumpkinhead had seen before.
Mr. Pumpkinhead didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t close his eyes. They were carved right through his rind.
Good evening, Mr. Pumpkinhead said. He was very friendly, and welcomed any newcomers to the pumpkin patch.
The thing (he couldn’t be sure whether it was a fruit or a vegetable) pulled out a sword and held it above his head. This made Mr. Pumpkinhead remember the time his face was carved. The day he received his smile.
The sword came down with a swoosh, and sliced several corn stalks off just above ground level, revealing a glorious pink sunset that almost matched the skin of the mysterious swordsman.
In our last episode, a robot had fallen from space much like the rover that some earthlings had sent to Mars. Since we last talked, the robot had learned about all of the plants living in the garden, and had become friends with them all.
The robot came across the garden to analyze the new friend.
Hylocereus undatus, the white-fleshed pitahaya, is a species of Cactaceae and is the most cultivated species in the genus. It is used both as an ornamental vine and as a fruit crop – the pitahaya or dragon fruit.
Halloween
Mr. Pumpkinhead was running out of time. Hot summer days cooled off a bit, and the nights were chilly. Mr. Pumpkinhead was still small and green. From his bed in the grass just on the edge of the garden, he had watched the zucchini ripen. He saw the lettuce go to seed and tower above everything else growing nearby. Some of the tomatoes blushed in the foliage and started to be eaten by insects. Mr. Pumpkinhead was still so green that one little boy mistook him for a watermelon.
What is wrong with me, Mr. Pumpkinhead wondered. All the other plants were so much further along in life compared to him. He felt ashamed, and so he hid beneath the leaves, criticizing himself.
The farmer came along one day and harvested a couple of zucchinis, then he uprooted all the lettuce plants and threw their long, woody stems onto the compost pile.
What about me? Mr. Pumpkinhead called out to him. The farmer only looked and walked right on by.
The parsley stood so proud, and the farmer liked to pick its leaves and eat them right there in the garden. It seemed to smirk, and the oregano would giggle, as if they understood no one wanted a hard green pumpkin.
The pumpkin plant had grown from last year’s jack-o-lantern that had been tossed onto the compost pile after sagging on the porch step, but Mr. Pumpkinhead had no recollection of this.
He couldn’t remember fall or Halloween.
Orange
Mr. Pumpkinhead was nervous. Something was happening, and he was sure it was something bad.
He’d just been growing there in the garden like normal. Next to the zucchinis, you know.
The zucchinis grew big, and the farmer came and picked them. They were dark green like him, but longer. Mr. Pumpkinhead couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been chosen. Maybe it was that the leaves hid him from view. But the zucchinis were growing beneath leaves, too.
All summer, they grew next to each other, and talked about the things squashes talk about.
Now it was late summer, and the zucchinis were all gone. That’s when Mr. Pumpkinhead noticed that something was not right. It started on his underside. An orange area, which he was able to keep hidden for a while. But then it started to spread. Dots of orange appeared all over his skin, and that orange patch was definitely getting bigger.
If he was rejected when he had beautiful green skin, he was sure no one would ever want him with all that bright orange!
Masks
Night fell over the pumpkin patch, and Mr. Pumpkinhead trembled. A werewolf and a warrior stalked the shadows. Every now and then a howl rose up, dissipating in the deep purple sky. Stars burned cold in the clearing between black clouds above him.
Mr. Pumpkinhead could not tell reality from a costume, or a sword from a vacuum cleaner wand, and so he did not recognize the farmer’s sons beneath their masks.
Swords frightened him, not for the inevitable pain of having ones face carved, but for the severing of his umbilical cord, a light green vine and stem that connected him to the earth.
I’ll protect you! the warrior called out, his voice leaving a puff of steam in the cold air, and the werewolf let out another terrible howl.
A drop of dew trickled down his rind, and Mr. Pumpkinhead sat very still. If he had had eyes yet, he would have tried to close them, which he wouldn’t have been able to do if they were carved through his flesh, which they weren’t yet, so never mind about the eyes. He didn’t want to be noticed. A tiny pink slug slithered on his skin, and he thought Shhhhhhh.
The boys were not hunting pumpkins.
Winter
Mister Pumpkinhead felt as though he had lost his identity. Indeed, he no longer felt like a pumpkin at all. Something happened after Halloween. His firm rind and candle-charred lid had collapsed and his face wrinkled. Mold grew on his insides, and the farmer scraped him off the porch step and threw him away. He landed with a hollow thump on the compost pile, and was forgotten.
When the snow came, he knew there was no hope for him.
He had questioned himself during the sunny spring days when his hard flesh was deep, dark green. He didn’t understand what was happening when he began to turn orange.
I should have appreciated those warm, happy days, he thought. He felt he was being punished, and rightfully so.
The blanket of snow was kind to conceal his misery.
If only I could start over, he mused, I would not waste a single ray of sunshine or drop of rain.
Remembering Everything
Laying, shriveled, under the snow, Mr. Pumpkinhead felt despondent. What he didn’t realize… what he couldn’t realize… was that he was the one his ancestors had been waiting for.
Since the first pumpkin-like gourd grew from prehistoric soil, each generation grew in its season and withered so its seeds could not only come back, but adapt.
He had forgotten the generations that preceded him, and had not yet realized that the cycle would continue.
He would be back in the spring, better than ever before, with no recollection, yet remembering everything.
Bucket
Mr. Pumpkinhead woke to a beautiful morning. The sky was churning. The clouds were dark gray, and the rain was coming down in sheets. Everyone in the garden was happy. The raindrops were so big that when they hit the ground, the mud splashed up in his face. He really couldn’t imagine a more perfect day.
A dark shape loomed near some tools the farmer had left out the day before. I say loomed, because it had stood up on its legs and was walking toward Mr. Pumpkinhead. As it walked, water sloshed out of its head from side to side with each step. It really was a glorious sight.
It stopped just on the perimeter of the garden, and for an instant, was illuminated by a flash of lightning. It waited for the inevitable thunder clap to echo and then said Hi guys!
He’s taking all our water! Sylvia called out, seeing that he was filled to brim.
The stranger only smiled, and said I’m Bucket. I hold things.
What do you need all that water for? Mr. Pumpkinhead asked, if not suspiciously, then curiously.
I don’t need it. But you might. What if tomorrow is a sunny day? What if the sky is clear and the air is dry? What if the farmer is away, and there is no one to turn on the hose? I hold things. I held those tools for the farmer yesterday. I can hold this water for you in case you need it tomorrow.
The thought of a dry day was not a happy one, and so the residents of the garden welcomed Bucket.
You’re not from around here, are you? asked the heirloom tomato. He was always concerned with genealogy.
Oh, but I am, originally. My roots go back to this soil.
Your roots? Gasped the carrot. You haven’t got any roots!
I mean my origins, explained Bucket. You see, I was formed out of clay that was dug from the earth. Then I was heated until I turned to glass. That’s why I can hold water without falling apart.
Well then, we’re practically family, said Mr. Pumpkinhead, who welcomed him with open vines.
Snowmobile
Mr. Pumpkinhead kind of sat around in the pumpkin patch all day. He was soaking up sun rays, and developing his fruit. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he told himself this is what pumpkins do.
He had a lot of time to study the landscape surrounding him. He noted, silently, the gentle curving shape of the day lily’s leaves, and looked forward to seeing the buds form and bloom. He observed the height of the tomato plants, and anticipated what color fruit they would produce. They were usually red, but there might be a few tomatoes in yellow, green and purple.
A shape caught his interest. It had symmetrical branches, two of them. The twigs neither grew nor sprouted leaves.
“It doesn’t look like a plant at all,” Sylvia said one day when Mr. Pumpkinhead brought it up. He couldn’t be sure. It was surrounded by plants, and this made it hard to differentiate it from its surroundings.
Bucket was left out on the grass next to the garden with some gloves and tools, so Mr. Pumpkinhead asked for his ideas.
“Oh that,” he said. “Yes, I’ve seen it come to life. In winter, it rumbles and roars, and zips over the snow.
Winter? Snow? What did Bucket mean?
“I don’t hibernate like you do,” Bucket explained, “When you go to sleep, I’m still here.”
“But how could I sleep through all that roaring and rumbling?”
“I honestly don’t know how you do it”, Bucket replied, “you shrivel and sleep under a blanket of snow, and then you come back from the ground.”
“Weird.” That’s all Mr. Pumpkinhead could think to say.
Clearance
The palm trees sat on the top shelf at the store, and looked down on the other plants which included Easter lilies, tulips and hyacinths. From the time they first came in, the palms felt superior. “You are just seasonal” the palm trees pointed out. Making matters worse, was the fact that Easter had passed. The seasonal plants were discounted 50%, and the palms laughed. “Nobody wants you!” they called out. They were marked down again. Their blooms fell off. Their stocks began to droop. They believed the palms, who had been there far longer than they had, and felt bad about themselves. The palms continued to laugh at their expense. The Easter plants were marked down again, to one fifth of their original price.
Someone came into the store and looked at the plants. “The palms would look nice in my window, but they are dry and turning brown, and they’re still full price!” He filled his cart with the clearance plants, and said “I’ve got the perfect place for you!”
It was spring, and the sun felt beautiful. He planted all of those flowers around his pumpkin patch, and looked forward to seeing their offspring fill his yard in the years to come.