THANKSGIVING MEMORY (November 1997)
The
Author in
(This
short piece was commissioned by “Seven Days” at Thanksgiving 1997. We were all asked to write something about
“one dish” that might be served at the table. – PK)
They
asked me to write about the pumpkin pie and I said I would because I know all
about pumpkins. Pumpkins and I go way
back. You can't trust them.
When
I was nine years old, I won first prize at the Champlain Valley Fair for a
pumpkin I grew in my back yard. It was
very beautiful, round and perfect.
Everybody said I had a green thumb.
But nobody told me about crop rotation, so when I tried it again the
next year I got only a pathetic stunted thing that looked more like a gourd
with warts. I felt betrayed, yes,
violated. I turned my back on pumpkins
for many years.
Then
one day when I was getting a divorce -- this was also some time ago -- I was
depressed and decided I'd make a pumpkin pie from scratch. God knows what I was thinking. I really needed some TLC. What I hadn't counted on was the
heartlessness of the pumpkin. Pumpkins
are very selfish fruits -- they don't forget.
It took me six hours to steam it, peel it, mash it and so forth, and by
the time I was done I had drunk three bottles of wine and couldn't taste the
pie at all. I called the woman I was
still married to and yelled at her over the phone. She said I was a jerk and hung up.
The moral of this story: It's just as good out of a can. Pumpkins will let you down.