Harvest Time

This creamy white and orange pumpkin is a variety known as "One-Too-Many." Passing through the tiny town of Accident, Md., a few weeks ago, I stopped to pick out a pumpkin from wagon-loads of beauties. Spotting a particularly fine specimen of the "One-Too-Many," I began waxing poetic about how it looked like marble, how utterly, well, Renaissance it looked -- like a sculpture. 


As the farmer approached, I asked him, "What is this amazing pumpkin?" He leaned back, grinned a bit and said, "Well, it's called a 'one-too-many,' and we figure it's because it looks like, you know, how a man's eyes look all bloodshot when he's had one too many."

Hey, it's a better explanation than I've found on the horticulture sites, but I guess I should have gotten two of them, then set them side-by-side on my front porch -- a pair of bleary eyes, staring into the early darkness.

Who except for Mitch can resist the charms of autumn: all those leaves, taking their colors from an artist's palette, the sunny and warm days and chilly nights, the anticipation of Halloween, smell of moldy leaves and a hot cup of Ovaltine. Well, there's football, of course, for some folks. But for me, it's a feast for the senses and a time to reflect on what I have to show from the growing season -- my own harvest. Time to get a stack of books -- or of firewood. Time to drive the backroads where the pace of life is slower, and sometimes when you round a bend in the road, you see a little church in the wildwood that looks something like this one along a scenic byway in West Virginia. 

Come to think of it, why would you want to be anywhere else this time of year? C'mon down (or up for those of you living in the South).