It's Halloween....pumpkin time.

The Pumpkin Weeps

“Slow down, Jimmy! Carving a pumpkin takes patience, a keen eye, and most importantly, a steady hand.”

Chad Osborn was sitting next to his son Jimmy as the eight year-old boy inserted the knife into the outer skin of the pumpkin they had just purchased a half mile down the road. The knife was not a sharp one—which was probably part of the problem—and Jimmy tried in vain to accomplish a deep cut. Chad knew that his wife would not approve of this whole plan, but under strict supervision, Chad thought Jimmy could at least do the task without taking a finger off.

“I want to make a big frown on the face, Dad.”.

“Why a frown?”

“Well,” replied Jimmy, “I can’t be too sure the pumpkin would have a smile on his face after being pulled out of his patch. That was his home, right?”

His dad chuckled. “I guess that’s right, son . . . I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

And so the two continued for the next half hour to make the face that Jimmy had envisioned, Jimmy getting his wish as he put the finishing touch on the pumpkin that made it quite sad-looking indeed.

“Can we put in on the front stoop tonight with a candle inside, dad? I’ll be careful. I promise. And I’ll watch it closely.”

“Okay” his dad said. “We’ll come out at dusk and light it up for a couple of hours before you go to bed.”

And so the plan was in place. Jimmy couldn’t wait to eat his supper, get his homework done, and prepare for the first pumpkin lighting of his young career. Wow, what a night it would be! A couple hours had passed, and Jimmy became increasingly anxious to start the night’s festivities. Jumping on his dad’s lap and knocking the newspaper from Chad’s hands, he asked, “Can we go out front and light it now dad? Can we, can we?”

“Okay son, I’ll go get some matches and we’ll see how that project of yours turned out.” His dad put down his paper, grabbed his son, and they headed out the front door with a shared mission in mind.  

Sitting on either side of the pumpkin, Jimmy and his dad examined the masterpiece they had created earlier in the day. The face wasn’t scary—it looked more sad than angry. Jimmy lifted the stem attached to the top and sat it aside as his dad struck the match and reached down inside to light the small white candle. 

Replacing the top and getting down in front of the pumpkin, Jimmy exclaimed with joy, “Dad, look at it . . . it’s perfect!”

 But Jimmy’s broad smile became a straight line as his face went from joyful to serious.

“What’s wrong, son?” his father asked.

“Dad, look at this.”

Coming around front, his father knelt beside Jimmy and saw what had changed the child’s face.  On either side of the pumpkin, and at the outer corner of each eye, several drops of water dripped down the pumpkin’s cheek. Almost a stream, if you will. “Oh that’s just condensation from inside son. Pumpkins are very wet inside you know.”

“No, dad. This pumpkin is most unhappy that we have ripped it away from its home, and it’s crying. Look at it.” Jimmy started to well up himself, his bottom lip quivering. “We have to take it back tomorrow. It has to go back.”

“Son, nobody’s going to take back a carved pumpkin . . . but we’ll try.” With that, the pair blew out the candle and retired for the evening.

The next day being Saturday, Jimmy and his father placed the pumpkin in the front seat of the station wagon and headed back down the road to the stand from which it came. The old man who operated the stand sat on a rusty old milk can and struck a match to his pipe as the pair approached him.

 “Problem?” inquired the man as Chad and Jimmy placed the carved piece at his feet.

“No, none at all,” replied Chad. “It was nice, but my son wants it returned to where it came from. Can you do that?”

“Well, I’ve never had anyone bring one back before, rather unusual, but guess I could. Can’t give your money back though.”

“Oh no, don’t expect that. Thanks so much, we’ll try and get back next year.”

“Suit yourself,” said the old man as he loaded the pumpkin into a wheelbarrow.

Sitting in the car, Chad and Jimmy reviewed the day that had just passed between them and the pumpkin.

“Do you think that pumpkin felt it when I cut it with the knife dad?”

“I don’t think so Jimmy. Many say that plants can communicate with each other, but I don’t believe that a plant can show any kind of emotion, let alone produce tears. How about an ice cream?”

 As the two drove away, they watched the old man as he moved the wheelbarrow out from behind his stand. Picking the pumpkin up and gently placing it back near another of its kind, the old man walked away with water dripping from his hands. “Boy, I don’t think I’ve ever handled one that wet,” he remarked as he dried his hands with his well-worn handkerchief.

Jimmy’s pumpkin was back home, as Jimmy had requested. Had his pumpkin produced tears after being ripped away from the fertile ground? Had it felt not only the separation, but also the knife that Jimmy had held to produce the frown that now adorned its face? Lots of questions indeed to ponder.

The sun settled two hours later on the old man’s pumpkin patch. Tonight, there would be a new face there, one with a most distinctive frown, and perhaps even a dried tear or two to reflect the moonlight that was yet to arrive.