My Smart Mouth: The return of decorative gourd season

We’ve reached the second week in October, and summer is over. Summer, that tantalizingly brief season of Vitamin D and seemingly endless evenings, officially ended at midnight on September 21 in North America. We made it through relatively unscathed by fire or the shaking of the earth this year and have reached that time when grasses are gilded and oftentimes rimed in frost, the leaves drift gently earthward in a palette of warm shades, wood smoke flavors the trailing edges of suddenly sharp gusts and the propane bill spikes.

In short, we have made it to that most hallowed of times – decorative gourd season!

Decorative gourd season, a tradition first observed in late twentieth-century American suburbia, begins with the first turning of deciduous leaves and manifests in the form of displays of shellacked vegetables of the fall varietal arranged in a bounty suggesting imminent consumption. Originating with middle-class white women raised by their underappreciated mothers to pour all frustration and disappointment into the crafting of artificial food and flower arrangements, this seasonal tradition has now spread bilaterally across boundaries of gender, race, age and socioeconomic status in a true example of American spirit.

Just kidding. Sort of.

Don’t get me wrong – I love fall, revel in all signs it’s encroaching, and look fondly on a good decorative gourd or pumpkin spiced latte as much as the next girl. But to say the mania for all things fall originated with the stereotypical scrapbooking Karens, Barbaras and Susans of the world is frankly doing the wise and folksy Granny Maebs, Morags and Elspeths of old a disservice.

To elaborate, many of the customs we associate with fall and Halloween hearken back to ancient holiday tradition celebrated by pre-Christian pagan cultures in the British Isles.

Historians agree that the seminal fall celebration of Halloween has its roots in Celtic speaking countries and their feast of Samhain, which marked the end of summer and the coming of winter. Many of the customs associated with the modern holiday are a product of ancient tradition, including the carving and lighting of pumpkins.

In Scotland and Ireland on All Hallows Eve, the night in which the veil between this world and the next was known to be thinnest, it was traditional for young men in costume to go from house to house, threatening to play tricks if they were not hospitably welcomed. They would often carry lanterns carved from gourds into frightening countenances to scare away any malignant spirits that might be out and about on this most mystical of nights.

Pumpkins, native to North America, come into the equation somewhat later. The Irish and Scottish emigrated to the Americas in waves during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, both involuntarily as transported criminals and desperately, bravely, and hopefully as willful immigrants bent on making a better life and future. From these displaced refugees many of us get our names, religion, cuisine, music and tradition.

One such tradition, which made its laborious way “across the pond” and survived years of prejudice, persecution, assimilation, modernization and commercialization is the carving of the holiday pumpkin. One of the famous foodstuffs legendarily offered to the starving pilgrims by the charitable Natives of New England in the much-vaunted but obviously under-appreciated first Thanksgiving, the pumpkin is likely the closest crop most immigrants could find to the traditional gourd.

In turn, the fall tradition of carving pumpkins has spawned a score of autumn traditions now revered and eagerly awaited in American culture, including all things pumpkin-based such as roasted pumpkin seeds, pumpkin pie and, most recently, pumpkin spice lattes and candles. These traditions, lately termed “basic” and largely (and hilariously) lampooned in modern satire, are still going strong, unwittingly preserving long-forgotten pagan culture.

I think it only fitting that, in honor of the uniquely American blend of enduring tradition, rebellion and ingenuity that fuels the carving of pumpkins, I share a few tips, recently learned, on how to extend the life of your jack-o-lantern.

Get a pumpkin with a stem. Stemless pumpkins have likely been handled a lot. The best pumpkins are those with a greenish stem.

When gutting, cut from the bottom or side, rather than the top of your pumpkin. Apparently, removing the stem of any fruit will shorten its life. Instead, cutting the back or bottom out of the pumpkin will extend its life as your doorstep guardian.

Don’t leave any guts or scrapings inside of the pumpkin – scrape it well, then wipe out the inside with lemon juice or, if you’re hardcore, rinse with bleach diluted in water. This will help arrest rot and keep mold at bay.

Wait to carve – buy your pumpkin when you see the right one, but don’t plan on carving until shortly before you want to display.

Rub Vaseline or some other oil such olive oil or WD-40 on and around the carved areas to keep the pumpkin moisturized and prevent shriveling and caving in.

Rather than a candle, use an electric or LED light to light your spirit-repelling jack-o-lantern. The hotter light of an open flame will start to cook the pumpkin, which smells nice but shortens its life expectancy.

If you see a deer in your yard, shoot it. DO NOT HESITATE. Deer are remorseless jack-o-lantern predators. Don’t stop to negotiate, they are no respecters of personal property or space. It’s them, or your jack-o-lantern.

Bonus Tip: Don’t waste the pumpkin flesh! If you save the cutout pieces from your pumpkin you can boil them until soft and then puree the flesh in a blender or food processor. The flesh from two pumpkins combined with one cup of apple or pear butter makes an amazing pumpkin pie filling.