Pass the Pumpkin

Halloween is over. The little witches and goblins have run their routs for candy, and the Jack-o-Lanterns begins to sag wearily on porches and sidewalks. But what of all the piles and stacks of pumpkins that never were chosen for carving? What happens to them?
Some are plowed back into the fields for compost, some are fed to the deer, but on our farm, they become food for the pigs. Pigs LOVE pumpkins, grunting eagerly as we throw them down hard to break them open or chop away with an axe. They stuff their faces priggishly, attaching first the seeds and guts, then gnawing away at the flesh and rind.
Chickens, too, love the pumpkins, pecking away until only the bowl-like shell of the skin remains. And even the sheep like the occasional pumpkin treat, nibbling at the slightly-sweet flesh.
But even though so many critters on the farm love pumpkins in the fall and winter, we haven’t been able to grow a big enough crop to satisfy their eager appetites on the farm. That means it was time to find a source for extras to stock up for the cold season.
This marked our third season of calling up Jeff at the Burch Barn outside Spooner, to learn when his busy agri-tourism season was finished. Pumpkins remaining in the fields after the Halloween celebrations were no longer going to find homes with clients. And while he feeds some of the excess crop to his cows, production is still more than he could use. Time for the annual road trip (thank you Jeff for letting us have pumpkins again this year), with a good set of gloves and farm duds you don’t mind getting dirty.
It was a gray but mild day, with no rain. Jane and Tom of the potato crew joined in, and we had a convoy of two trucks and trailers, ready for action. The patch sloped down a rolling hill, the vines long since shriveled and shattered, orange orbs dotting the landscape. The series of freezing nights had wreaked havoc on some of the pumpkins, leaving gooey balls behind, but many were still in good condition.
Jane and I had one of the rigs, while Mom and Steve had the second. We followed the trails, stopping to trot back and forth from pumpkin to trailer and back again. It felt very squirrel-like in nature, with the primal gatherer mode kicking in. When the walking between pumpkins grew unnecessarily far, we’d pull the rig another length forward and start the process again.
Thump, in went another pumpkin. If they were small and had good stems, I could carry two, but most of the time it was one orange orb at a time in a bear hug. The smell of autumn was everywhere, and you could almost imagine cinnamon and nutmeg if you really thought about it.
“What is this one?” Jane asked, holding up a pinkish, slightly dish-shaped orb.
“That’s a kubocha squash. You can eat that one,” I offered.
Jane was in her element. Halloween was her favorite holiday as a kid, and she’s always loved pumpkins. We could have been there all day! But eventually the trailers and the trucks filled and after Jeff graciously let us pump up some of the tires in his garage (yes, we were that fully loaded), we were off heading back to the farm.
Kara has a special spot in one of the sheds where she’s built bins from palates. We stack the pumpkins in there, where they can freeze solid for the winter. The pigs don’t mind eating pumpkin-sicles, so long as we chop it up for them. Kara and Tom joined us as we backed up the trailers for unloading, forming a line for a brigade.
I was in the trailer, lifting out the pumpkins one at a time, handing them to Mom, who tossed them to Steve in the entryway of the shed, who tossed them to Kara, who tossed them to Jane, who tossed them to Tom who stacked them in the bin. I was going as fast as I could to keep up with them! Hooting and hollering ensued as a slightly squishy one came down the line, or a tiny one was followed by a giant one.
“Hold it a moment!” Steve hollered out as the crew was laughing too hard to hold pumpkins for a minute. “We’ve had a breakdown on the assembly line!”
Did any of us imagine in our previous lives—thin film specialists, physicians, dieticians, marketers, artists, shepherds—that one day we’d be laughing ourselves silly, stashing away unwanted pumpkins for pigs? Life can offer many unexpected twists and turns, but there’s nothing like engaging the adventure and enjoying the moment. I could barely lift my arms in the morning, but I had happy memories of working hard and having fun on the farm. What adventures will you embrace this week? See you down on the farm sometime.