Fayette: I’ve carved memories
for life with pumpkins

By Jill Howard Church

We’ve picked out our Halloween pumpkin, and the carving is imminent. I hold my breath a bit each October, wondering whether my kids care about jack-o’-lanterns anymore. They’re both in their teens, and with friends and Facebook stealing their attention, the low-tech tradition of poking holes in a big squash seems in danger of getting, well, squashed.

So far, it’s looking good.

I’m a big fan of Halloween because it lets people of all ages and backgrounds let loose their creativity and literally put on a different face. (And also because, like all the best holidays, chocolate is involved.) I’ve got “Monster Mash” on my iPod, purple googly-eyed lights on the shrubs and big black spider candles on the dining room table, lit every night. I’m rocking the “Rocky Horror Picture Show” soundtrack, and my kids and I do the Time Warp, which I taught them when they were toddlers. We send silly Halloween cards to grandparents, aunts and uncles, and my husband and I attend what is surely the coolest adult Halloween party in Peachtree City (and no, I’m not telling you where it is; we regulars know who we are).

But all that is moot unless there’s a freshly carved pumpkin sitting on the stoop, glowing with the light of a real candle, as the first of the princesses and superheroes arrive at the door at dusk.

I learned pumpkin carving from my father, who was very methodical and carved the same face every year. It was a classic. I’m a bit more varied, letting the kids draw designs that I try to re-create. Some years we have goofy faces, some years are scary. Carving is both an art and a skill, a trick and a treat, one that deserves to be passed to each generation just to show that some things don’t have to change. My daughter is now my apprentice, and a darn good one.

It’s fitting that pumpkin carving has a slightly sinister side. A study published in Preventive Medicine in 2004 used hydraulics and cadaver hands to test whether kitchen knives or special tools were safer for carving pumpkins, and concluded the tools “may indeed be safer.” I use both. I figure if you happen to nick yourself while carving, you can just wipe the blood on the jack-o’-lantern for some extra authenticity. (I also figure the Preventive Medicine Halloween party must’ve had an awesome centerpiece that year.)

Sometimes it’s good to carve the pumpkin several days before Halloween. The Georgia heat can do some wickedly interesting things to a slowly rotting face. Just make sure you toss it in the compost pile before the bottom gives way.

I think Linus missed the mark when he waited all night for the Great Pumpkin to appear. Great pumpkins aren’t born, they’re made. And I hope our family keeps wanting to make them for many years to come.

Jill Howard Church, a freelance writer, has lived in Fayette County since 1994.