, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It is not truly Autumn until I have found my special pumpkins.  I was never much into having a lot of orange ones about, and then, one year, I met a large, perfect white one in a tourist spot. Pumpkin love.  When I found out that that really was a real, genuine pumpkin, I was on the hunt for mine. My dear husband indulged my hunt and we looked everywhere we passed. I looked, and he drove, because I was pumpkin hunting and it is a rigorous activity. My neck would just about crane off as we whizzed past farm stands and many times we had to turn around and come back to look closer, just in case.  It is all about it being very lovely and artistic to have a pumpkin of a different color in my house.  My art and writing studio (kitchen table) was empty without one.

Imagine my delight when I saw a blue pumpkin one year. Oh wow. A real bluish color with smooth skin, my next hunt was on. Right now I have a cute white one on my table right next to a blue one of a larger size, and I am on the lookout for one like I found last year – a bumpy one with lovely dry spots all over that give it an amazing look.  It looks better than it sounds.I enjoy the ambience of my fall friends, but I finally have learned to let them go to higher purpose before Thanksgiving.  Pies.  Last year I did not part with them soon enough and they melted inside a bit and leaked on my tablecloth.  So, I search, looking for an artist pumpkin, a writer’s delight, the fun part is the hunt.