October flew by and good weather throughout the Midwest led to rioting in the streets. People walking to and fro, wearing summery clothes and chanting things like 'What good weather we're having' and 'Funny, I don't even need my coat'.
It was chaos.
The week before my annual B.Y.O. Pumpkin Carving party we set out for our gourdy favorites, it was an unseasonable 80 degrees. I rolled up my pant legs, threw ice cubes in my coffee, and avoided the smokey kettle corn tent to hunt for a warty pumpkin to call my own. We weren't disappointed by the selection at Goebberts of cardboard cutouts to pose with nor the seed filled orbs piled around the acreage.
We bought the farm. Or damn well close to it. If my arms are any gauge for it, the haul must have been close to thirty pounds. Navigating the dodgy cart through the expansive parking lot was a feat and this man was not going to allow any blood spilt. The apple cider made it to the car and was partially consumed on the ride home in autumnal spirit.
Normally I'm an albino pumpkin carver, but I saw this lonely medium sized 'kin in a bin of neglected odd bits I brought it home thinking I'd be able to make a wicked witch. My inexperience with this sort of gourd and tool set made with a five year old in mind was unable to complete the task I had set for it. When I was that age I'm sure I would have fun a way to poke an eye out with the generic set of tools only meant for bending and breaking.
That Star Trek logo is his mouth, completely unintentional. Even Pierce got in on the fun, wearing an adorable skull hoodie from Susie and sniffing around the pumpkin guts before settling in so we could admire his new duds.
He was happy. I swear. Don't call animal cruelty, he's got a good thing going here besides the occasional dress up.