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Smashing good pumpkins

From buffoonery to horror, pumpkins rise again... and again
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The Haunting Hour: Scary Pumpkin at his finest. Photo by Emma Sturdy at North Arm Farm in Pemberton

Golden orange pumpkins carved into grinning grimaces and their golden orange glow will be lighting up many a misty front porch this fright-filled night. And although it's hard to imagine, we have a jilted lover to thank, at least in part, for the fantastic Jack-o and Jacqueline lanterns at the heart of Halloween fun.

No denying pumpkins have long been essential to Thanksgiving and harvest iconography — shorthand that to "our festive fall fables" — as well as our festive fall tables. But it's in Washington Irving's classic American tale, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, where we witness the mighty pumpkin crossing over, so to speak, into the land of horror.

Cindy Ott brings us this insight in her intriguing book, Pumpkin: The Curious History of an American Icon, for this big orange vegetable was once a symbol of social and class distinction, and the incumbent comedy based on status reversal.

Pumpkins once symbolized the stupidity of country bumpkins and, of more feminist concern, the containment for women. (Recall the nursery rhyme about Peter the Pumpkin Eater, and that's not the only application). The pumpkin later became a symbol of gluttony and buffoonery in general — in plays, editorial cartoons, book illustrations, you name it, the pumpkin equalled "numbskull."

And so it was, writes Ott, that Irving used the pumpkin in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow to represent the rusticity of New York's rural Hudson River valley as well as the buffoonery of the tale's main character, Ichabod Crane. A lanky, somewhat foolish schoolteacher prone to superstition, Ichabod reads too many scary ghost stories, including the legend of the horseman who lost his head during the American Revolution.

Then late one night when he's returning home along an isolated country road, Ichabod is chased by what seems like the Headless Horseman, who tosses a head-like object at him. Poor Ichabod is frightened to death, or at least to the point where he runs off, never to be seen again.

Turns out the head-like object is a pumpkin, and the tosser none other than Bram Bones, a rival who'd been fancying the same attractive young farmer's daughter as Ichabod had. Conclusion: all is fair in love, including smashing pumpkins.

Although the idea of a Jack-o'-lantern itself originated from a folktale about a man named Stingy Jack in Ireland, where the vegetables of carving choice were turnips and potatoes, not pumpkins, the idea of Halloween per se didn't emerge in North American culture until around the time The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was published.

Then there had been Nathaniel Hawthorne's earlier 1830 story featuring a scarecrow made by a bewitched New England farmwoman, who uses a pumpkin for the head with two holes cut for the eyes and a slit for the mouth.

These tales along with all the other popular iconography of the day no doubt precipitated the merging of the Irish tradition with one from the American south, where Jack-o'-lantern was another name for the will-o'-the-wisp, "an unsettling and inexplicable light emanating from a darkened forest or dense swamp," writes Ott.

The creepy pumpkin idea was ripe for the picking, and we Canadians picked up on it, too.

Dense swamps, no, but fat pumpkins and darkened forests we have a-plenty in this neck of the woods. And, when we're lucky, ghostly fingers of mist and fog spice up the whole Halloween effect.

If atmosphere is 90 per cent of spectacle, that's got to be why we West Coasters are so nuts about our pumpkins and overall Halloween revelry.

Not one to let down what's become a spook-tacular tradition, North Arm Farm in Pemberton planted almost seven acres with pumpkins and gourds this year, including two varieties of sugar pumpkins, which can do double Halloween duty because their flesh is great for eating. (Get it? Flesh great for eating... Ha, creepy, ha!)

Up until 6 p.m. tonight, when the farm closes for the season and the crepuscular advances of All Hallows' Eve set in, you can get five varieties of Jack-o'-lantern-type pumpkins there, too, including a white-skinned one called Polar Bear. (The horticulturalist missed a terrific naming opportunity on that one, methinks. Doesn't something like "Ghost Rider" sound way more Halloweeny for a white pumpkin?)

By all accounts from North Arm's Trish Sturdy, this year's pumpkin-growing season was great. The field was "orange" by mid-September, and October's sunny weather brought out so many visitors to the farm and pumpkin patch that they went from asking themselves, "how are we going to sell all these pumpkins?" to "are we going to have any left to sell on the 31st?"

But the pumpkins lasted, as many happy families know. In fact, it's just such pumpkin-ish efforts, from tours to mazes, that have helped many rural communities and farms survive these post-postmodern times.

And although no giant pumpkin records were set in Canada this year — the 2013 world record has gone to Tim Mathison in Morgan Hill, California, for his 2,032-pound monster, only the second 2,000-plus pumpkin ever grown — I feel happily reassured that we Canucks are well-ensconced in the great pumpkin picture, Charles Schultz's Linus and his Great Pumpkin dreams notwithstanding.

For Nova Scotian Howard Dill, also known as The Pumpkin King, is as famous for his pumpkin-record-setting variety, Atlantic Giant, as for his four consecutive world records, 1979-82.

Back then a champion pumpkin weighed in around the 440-pound range, or about one quarter of the giant pumpkin size today, having some growers shaking their heads in disbelief at the monsters we're creating.

No matter what size your Halloween pumpkin is, you can use its flesh — or simply buy the canned stuff — to whip up delicious pumpkin pies using this recipe from Trish Sturdy's mom's mom, Lottie Vawden. It's stood the test of time and taste at the farm for years.

In the meantime, happy haunting — and conjure up a little mystery for your inner Headless Horseman.

Glenda Bartosh is an award-winning journalist who's sharpening the knives for her sugar pumpkins.

Trish Sturdy's grandmother's pumpkin pie

(Note: this recipe will make three 9-inch pies)

 

  • 3 cups fresh pumpkin purée
  • 1.5 cups brown sugar (Trish uses dark)
  • 4 eggs
  • 3 tins evaporated milk
  • 4 tbsp. molasses
  • 1 tsp. salt
  • 2 tsp. each of cinnamon and ginger
  • 1/2 tsp. each of nutmeg, allspice and cloves

 

Whisk everything together well and pour into 3 pre-baked pie shells. Bake at 375 degrees for about 40-45 minutes, until a knife inserted comes out clean.