Wednesday, October 13, 2010


I did NOT write that (right there ^^). It's just something I stumbled upon — or, more accurately, stepped over — at the Trinity Church Pumpkin Patch the other day, being John Lennon's birthday. The chalk that enabled the long-gone scribe was still hanging out in the grass nearby. As was an irresistible array of little pumpkins, artfully arranged along the web of brick sidewalks weaving through Queen Anne Square. As were people picking just the right pumpkins for whatever their purpose might be. As was the young couple trying to balance a bizarrely-formed pumpkin on their daughter's head for just the right photo opp. How well I remember such photo opps ... although I never (to my recollection) said to Darling Daughter, as this couple was saying to their young'un: "There you go. Now you're a pumpkin head!" Whatever that means. But it doesn't sound altogether complimentary or encouraging. Not that I didn't say plenty of dubious things when focused on capturing just the right moment of autumnal/familial bliss on film (remember film??).

Anyway, a bit downhill from the pumpkin patch on that picture-perfect lawn (which used to be a neighborhood) is the smash pit. The smash pit! Pumpkin-purchasing patrons are invited to vent their frustrations by hurling their seed-and-slime-filled orbs at a rock. Now I know smashing pumpkins (hey, isn't that a band??) is arguably a ne'er do well activity, and maybe the folks at the pumpkin patch are trying to remove some sort of stigma or help the community by making this tradition-bound reality more legitimate, but I just don't know if it'll work. I'm not sure anyone can curb the appeal of pumpkin-smashing (not that I've ever engaged in it) as an il-legitimate activity.

Chalk it up to good intentions ...