The Great Pumpkin

“I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion.” This time of year, Henry David Thoreau could well find himself on a pumpkin – or not, depending on where he looks for the perfect pumpkin seat.

Apparently, there is a slight pumpkin shortage this fall. What with all the wet weather we had in the spring – everywhere, not just around here – pumpkins in the field are still green. Oh, what is a mother to do? Hey, how about carving a watermelon? There are still some of those around and just think about the possibilities. Concentrate on lizard faces and frog faces and green witch faces. Create a jack-o’melon this year.

Or, if you’re really desperate, grab one of those ugly gray gourd things that turn up every year in the markets with the pumpkins. They’re oddly shaped, bumpy, or warty if you prefer, and would be perfect for a witch’s caricature. Stick a candle inside one of those and see how the trick-or-treaters react.

And that reminds me. Have you ever thought about what Halloween smells like? Christmas is obvious: pine, cinnamon sticks, fake snow. Thanksgiving is all about turkey and sweet potato pie and stuffing. So, I ‘spose Halloween smells like a candle scorching the inside of a scooped-out pumpkin, all sooty and black. It smells like popcorn balls and chocolate candy mixed up in a bowl. It smells like leaves scuffed up by small feet creeping across your yard to get to the front door.

In a way, Halloween gives pumpkins a reason to exist. Except for pies and jack- o’lanterns…no, I take that back. Pumpkins are happy things. They’re bright orange or white, a cheery vegetable that can be used for a lot of things. Just not a lot of the time.

It was pouring down snow in Telluride, Colorado yesterday.

On the way from the parking lot to the office this morning, I was jarred out of my somnambulistic state by the honking of geese overhead. Sure enough, they were flying in sort of a vee formation, with a couple out-of-line rebellious birds flitting around the edges. I stopped in my tracks, looked up, and hoping all the while for no gifts from above, heard another conversation. (Not eavesdropping; just learning stuff.) A young man was explaining to the female in the passenger seat of his car that “yeah, they fly like that for a while and then those guys in the back will move up to the front and lead the fly-over.” It’s common knowledge that they fly that way to conserve energy. If you could see the geese on a horizontal plane, you’d see that each one flies a little higher than the guy in front of him, taking advantage of the uplift created by the flapping wings just ahead. And if those stragglers get too far away, the vee formation enables the other birds to keep track of each other and who’s in line like they’re supposed to be. And the young man was exactly right; they do switch places once in a while.

As a new goose takes the lead, the guys in the back all honk their encouragement. If a goose falls out of formation or is taken down by gunshot, two geese will follow him down to help and protect him. They stay with him until he is either able to fly or until he is dead, and then they will catch up with their own or another group.

Makes one wonder: Do we human beings have the sense of a goose?