When I was growing up in Arizona, our pumpkins were smashed every year. Everybody’s pumpkins were smashed. I thought it was part of the social contract. If you left your pumpkin accessible to the public, that would be the end of it. It was also a useful tool for disposing of them. November 1, no need to think about your pumpkin again.
Imagine my surprise upon moving to Boston, and waking up on All Saints Day to find my pumpkin perfectly in tact. Not once has my pumpkin been smashed. It is very mysterious to me. I’m sure it is fun to destroy them, but the Boston kids hold off.
The end result of this is that I generally forget about the pumpkin until it’s rotting on the porch and Jen yells at me to get rid of it already.
Here is this years pumpkin. Yes, I’m very proud of the spider. Next year I’m going to attempt a portrait of Britney Spears.
And gratuitously, here is the cutest pirate to ever sail the seven seas.