My daughter is sorry to see the Halloween decorations go. Not the huge inflatable Frankenstein monsters or the fake scarecrows that are too little and jolly to scare a crow — good riddance to those, she says. But she likes the sheet ghosts hanging from trees, the ones that blow in the breeze.
The Halloween decorations I like best are the kind that were grown — the piles of pumpkins, squashes and gourds that people like to put on their porches or on bales of hay near the driveway. They’re pretty, native, a sign of the harvest. And good eating too.
Now that trick-or-treating is all over, it’s time to eat the decorations.
My son’s pumpkin got nibbled even before he carved it. He had, as usual, chosen the biggest one in the garden, and we threw a tarp over it when frost came.
When we went to get it the week before Halloween, we found the open end of a mouse burrow under it, and a large nibbled section on one side of the pumpkin.
The boy almost cried.
We offered him every other pumpkin in the garden, then suggested he could carve out the nibbled section for a huge, open mouth. But he cheered up and said the nibbles were in the back anyway, then carved a frightening face on the other side, a snaggle-toothed, one-eyed thing with a scar near the nose.
I carved a smaller, less frightening pumpkin, and we lit them inside to enjoy them for a few days before we took them out. By Halloween, they were getting soft, and the rain kept putting out the candles. And the next day, one of the oxen strolled over, took a big bite out of each, and knocked them onto the ground, where the chickens worked them over.
Everyone likes a pumpkin. And there are plenty for everyone.
We’re cooking what’s left from the pumpkin patch, tossing a pumpkin or a squash into the oven to bake in the evenings. It’s easy to do: just poke a few holes in the skin and place it, whole, in a baking dish with a little water. When it’s soft it’s ready. When it’s cooled, you can cut it in half and scoop out seeds and stringy parts (we give that to the chickens or the pig) and then the soft flesh for puree.
Most winter squashes will work. Some have softer, more watery flesh than others, some are yellower, some more orange. They’re all good, and loaded with vitamins.
We bake ours into pies and breads and muffins. Or we eat pumpkin straight, with a little nutmeg, as a vegetable side dish. We mash it with boiled potatoes and bake them together in a casserole with butter, cheese and eggs. We make all kinds of soups. I don’t know a bad way to prepare pumpkin. And we put the extra puree in the freezer for later.
Before your own porch displays are destroyed by frost, or nibbled by mice or squirrels, bring them in for supper. And there might be a goat in your neighborhood who wants the bale of hay, or maybe a dog who might need some doghouse insulation.
I love decorations you can grow and eat. Who thought up plastic, light-up pumpkins anyway? They just take up attic space when the season is over. Real pumpkins are a bridge between the harvest and winter festivals, the center of cold-weather dinners.
My friend contends she hates November, and that everyone else does too. She says it’s the short, cloudy days and cold nights that get everyone depressed.
I don’t know. Maybe she’s just not eating enough pumpkin.
Margaret Hartley is the Gazette’s Sunday and features editor. Greenpoint appears in the Gazette’s print edition Sundays on the Environment page.
Have a question or a topic you’d like addressed on Greenpoint? Email greenpoint@dailygazette.net.
