Pumpkin-Carving
Despite the fact that it’s in the 80s outside, it’s still mid-October, and so last night Andrew and I managed our lingering debate-fueled aggression by carving the pumpkins we bought at the farmer’s market on Sunday.
There’s something soothing about carving a pumpkin, even though the act itself—wrenching a sharp knife dangerously through thick pumpkin rind, scooping out the slimy innards—isn’t by nature too relaxing. It’s such a specifically fall activity, emblematic of all the other cozy vestiges of the season—hay bales, Halloween, Indian corn, gourds, apple-picking, hot chocolate, wool sweaters, warm blankets. The final three items are not realistically part of a California fall, but I can dream…
Our pumpkins came out splendidly, Andrew’s with a toothy grin, mine with a wide smile. We arranged them on our terrace, their glowing faces visible from the street. I haven’t seen any other jack o’lanterns yet in Sacramento—surely I’m looking in the wrong places. But I like to think that ours mark our household as one where fall reigns supreme.
There’s something soothing about carving a pumpkin, even though the act itself—wrenching a sharp knife dangerously through thick pumpkin rind, scooping out the slimy innards—isn’t by nature too relaxing. It’s such a specifically fall activity, emblematic of all the other cozy vestiges of the season—hay bales, Halloween, Indian corn, gourds, apple-picking, hot chocolate, wool sweaters, warm blankets. The final three items are not realistically part of a California fall, but I can dream…
Our pumpkins came out splendidly, Andrew’s with a toothy grin, mine with a wide smile. We arranged them on our terrace, their glowing faces visible from the street. I haven’t seen any other jack o’lanterns yet in Sacramento—surely I’m looking in the wrong places. But I like to think that ours mark our household as one where fall reigns supreme.
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