The Color of Fun

photo courtesy of Spencer Greet

October 2, 2008

October is my favorite month.

What's not to like, at least here in the Northeast? The crisp, clear weather? The smell of burning leaves? The colors?

Certainly it is the most colorful month. It starts, here in Pennsylvania, with the leaves on all of the trees mostly green. Then, day by day, the gradual transformation occurs, and the trees show their true colors - red and orange for maple, gold for oak - as if they could finally go home, shed their nice but dull workaday uniform and change into something much more festive.

It is time to party, the trees are saying.

Of course, October culminates in the annual costume-wearing, pumpkin-carving, candy-eating bacchanale that is Halloween. It has ancient origins, going back to the early Celtic festival of Samhain, the word for November. It was the end of one harvest year and the beginning of another, but also the beginning of a period of increasing darkness; Ireland and Scotland, the Celtic nations, are located in northern latitudes where the midwinter day is a feeble few hours.

No wonder, then, that a party seemed called for. A bonfire was lit on the Hill of Tara, the ancient seat of Irish kings, and all were summoned to light their own fires against the coming night. Around the fire, stories were told in honor of the dead, and crop offerings were burned to the Celtic deities. Food was prepared for the coming winter.

My family has an annual ritual of pumpkin picking at Milky Way Farm. We climb on a haywagon, ride out to the pumpkin patch, and look for the absolute best pumpkin to carve. We usually select too many, because no one can decide on just one pumpkin. One year I was eight months pregnant, and the inevitable jokes about pumpkin-smuggling ensued.

After the pumpkins are picked, we have the obligatory photo session, wherein Jim and Norm replace their heads with pumpkins, and observations are made about the improvement in their appearance this affords. At that point,some of us slackers ride the wagon back to the farm; other, more virtuous family members walk back, hauling their pumpkins as best they can. Next on the agenda is petting the farm animals. Then, we go eat ice cream made from the milk of the farm's own dairy cows.

Not exactly the fires of Samhain, but still a celebration of the harvest.

It is always a reminder, walking through the fields, picking up the pumpkins, looking into the eyes of a calf, that life is about more than work, more than the Internet, more than television, more than exercising in the gym. It is about being outside on a beautiful fall day, taking time to use our senses to take in the world.

It is also a reminder of how fortunate we are; that once upon a time we might have been reaping grain and slaughtering cows for sustenance through the winter. Now, we can enjoy a pumpkin just for its color and shape and carve-ability.

Come to think of it, they also make great pies.