Every year a traditional New England style white church on Rte. 28 in Yarmouth, here on Cape Cod fills it's expansive lawn with pallets of pumpkins, from large to small -- a sea of orange with green paths between. It's a gorgeous, autumn sight. For years I've muttered that I must take a photo. Today I took a few, this is one that show the size and expansiveness of the display.
Pumpkins are not a favorite food of mine and I'm not enticed by the various "pumpkin spice" flavoring being offered everywhere from Starbucks to Dunkin' Donuts. Nor am I a holiday fan of pumpkin pie. I do love their brilliant color and enjoy driving past that church all of October.
There are now white pumpkins for sale in the grocery stores. They seem like freaks of nature, possibly grown so people can paint extravagant faces on them. Or maybe just "because it can be done." We never stop tinkering with nature. I can't help remembering the first line of a James Whitcomb Riley poem: "When the frost in on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock..." Once America's most quoted poet, (early 20th century) now forgotten. A Hoosier, so we read him in school back home in Indiana. I find it satisfying to think about how quickly hacks are forgotten.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!