Pumpkin Guts

Never in my life has there been an October so full of pumpkin murder as this one. But of all the Octobers I've had I suppose this one is the most appropriate for the activity. It's cathartic, and with all the shit I've gone through this month it's doing me some good. Each carving is proving to be a different opportunity to get back in touch with myself, someone I've gravely neglected in the past year.

A couple of weekends ago I went to Yakima, Washington with some school buddies and there we selected our ideal pumpkins; canvasses of orange flesh prime for the cutting. I was in an introvertive state of mind at the time, so planning a design with only negative and positive space which could fall apart with the slightest error was a thrilling problem to solve. I withdrew into my mind imagining solutions and patterns, scratching them roughly upon a tiny notebook on the long drive to our destination.

How gratifying it was when once I had my pumpkin in my hands, gutted and waiting to be transformed. You know the "zone"? I was there. Every cut had a purpose, it came together little by little. People laughed and chatted around me. Puppies tried to interfere for lack of adequate attention. Children shoved pumpkin shaped cookies and treats into their mouths, but I was barely aware of all this. When I made the last cut I realized that nothing had come between me and my vision. It came out even better than I had hoped. If only life was always this perfect! You imagine something great and then you make it happen just as you had envisioned.

I don't think such luck is always possible. Sometimes you have a vision that you are just sure will work, and then it falls flat on your face exploding into stringy orange goo and scattered seeds. But sometimes luck works in your favor. Sometimes on the tenth pumpkin you carve a masterpiece. And sometimes on your first pumpkin of the season you surprise yourself. I don't think there's a rule of thumb to go by, except that maybe your only sure way to find success is to just keep carving no matter how many pumpkins you butcher.

This time I think I needed to succeed. In that small instance I remembered that I am an artist, something I had forgotten.

The next time I encountered a pumpkin was in the pouring rain in a muddy patch, surrounded by good friends who were getting dirtier by the second. "What about this fat one? Or this long one?" "Ewwww, this one is rotten and covered in dear poo! And by the way is this muck ever gonna wash off of my shoes? "

I felt like a kid again. This time I was not withdrawn. This time I was engaged in play. "Let's make pie! How about this ginormous one!" And that's what we did. We chose the biggest, wettest, muddiest pumpkins weighing all of 33 lbs, hacked it up, baked five pan-fulls and used about one cup of the harvest for one pumpkin turtle pecan pie. Where is the rest you ask? Either frozen in Christina's freezer awaiting its fate as various pumpkin confections, or being digested by Choco the dog who has troublesome bowel movements.

This time the masterpiece was not a carving, or even a pie. It was just the time spent on an enormous, ridiculous project with friends who were willing to see it through with you. This time I got in touch the part of myself who loves company and who has missed it for much too long.

When will my next encounter with a pumpkin take place? A family gathering for one, and a group of dancers for the other. I will keep you posted. Meanwhile, whatever you do, keep carving!