A Not Scary Pumpkin Story
By Donna McCrohan Rosenthal, East Sierra Branch
The harvest moon – the pumpkin moon – rises big and big, round and round, and orange and orangey orange. Nature explains it by atmospheric conditions and closeness to the horizon. But we know better. It arrives for the pumpkin harvest to watch over Halloween and Thanksgiving. Pumpkin season lingers until Christmas, then the stores dramatically reduce pumpkin prices and you can buy a $3 box of pumpkin latte for 69 cents.
But we digress.
You want to learn about Stephen and why pumpkins made him laugh and smile.
His mom Megan always had a taste for pumpkins and foolishly told friends, who ever after deluged her with pumpkin treats and pumpkin recipes. The vibes must have rubbed off on little Stephen, perhaps from birth.
During pumpkin season, he would play with pumpkin toys and loved looking at jack o’ lanterns. Whenever everyone else left the room, the toys and jacks returned the favor by entertaining him. The jack o’ lanterns twinkled more brightly. The stuffed toys puffed themselves out to seem more fluffy. They resisted singing, or sprouting arms and legs, because they didn’t want to creep Stephen out. Stephen smiled and smiled and laughed and laughed. Stephen’s particular pumpkin pal, Alpha Prime, came back every year and, with some subtle, inexplicable telepathy, gave him advice.
Stephen bonded with all of them. Annually. During pumpkin season. For the rest of the time, Stephen didn’t remember the special days. But he knew he liked pumpkins. The playing continued until he reached the age when most children set dolls aside. But he kept liking pumpkins.
He grew older, did very well in school and excelled in music, in literature, and in science. After graduation, he won a Nobel Prize. He proudly accepted the award, but if you asked him later what he won it for, he had to think to recollect. Literature? Medicine? He was that accomplished in everything.
When he retired, he bought a pumpkin farm. Each pumpkin season under the pumpkin moon, he opened it for the U-Pick crowd, and had hayrides and mazes. Adults could only enter if accompanied by children. When children left with the pumpkins they’d selected, they would have to say what they named their pumpkins. Stephen wasn’t sure why, but he believed that the child and its pumpkin should be friends. (This didn’t mean children couldn’t eat their pumpkins. He sensed that pumpkins don’t mind, as long as the people who gobble pumpkin pies appreciate the delicious taste. Pumpkins like to make people happy.)
“Who’s this?” he’d inquire.
“Clementine,” answered one little girl.
“And this one?”
“Horace,” replied a little boy.
“And this handsome big one?”
“Alpha Prime,” said a lad.
Suddenly, Stephen recognized… something. He shook his head. “What?” The pumpkin winked, because Stephen had matured to where pumpkin antics wouldn‘t creep him out any more. Stephen laughed and smiled, then heard himself declare,
“If you want to inherit a pumpkin farm when you grow up, call me.”
Stephen and Megan are real.
So perhaps the pumpkin friends are too.