Today's story is courtesy of the weekend freewrite project organised by @mariannewest. Details can be seen here: @mariannewest/weekend-freewrite-10-26-2019-part-1-the-first-sentence
Dear little children, please gather 'round. Bring you a pillow and come and sit down.
You know, once upon a time, in a different day and age, that greeting and summons may have, in fact, summoned a small herd of children eager to hear a story. Of course, that would have been back when stories told ‘round a campfire were a part of our every day society. Back before electronic technology, even before the written word was widespread, and when stories were still magical, and they passed down important lessons about life and culture.
Now, all it summoned were a few children who wanted to roast ‘smores and get back to running around the field as soon as they could. Some of the adults seemed interested in the stories, at least. Ghost stories tonight!
“Tonight I’m going to tell you about the history of the jack-o-lantern!” I mentioned to the group. You know, I noticed that my initial assessment was wrong. Some of the children were in fact listening and paying attention. Maybe there was hope for instilling some culture into them after all!
“And the devil threw a turnip at jack and some hot coals from hell and told him to use those to light his way! And so Jack, with no where else to go, carved a recess into his turnip, a place to put the coals, and used that as a lantern, the very first Jack-o-lantern!” I exclaimed at the conclusion of the story.
My eyes sprang wide. The woman's dark brown face was very close…
I was absolutely not expecting anyone to get so involved in the story that they felt the need to intrude on my personal space! This young woman was so interested that she kept leaning closer and closer, then edging closer, and scooting closer on the ground until she was a little closer than I would have liked.
“But then why are Jack-o-lanterns made of pumpkins?” she asked levelly. “Jack had a turnip. Why don’t we make Jack-o-lanterns out of turnips?” she continued. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to find a way to poke a hole in my legend or if she was asking a legitimate question. And.. honestly.. I suppose it was a legitimate question.
“Because Jack ultimately took a boat to the new world,” I answered after only a moment’s thought. “And he lost his turnip in a severe storm on the ocean. Pumpkins are native to North America, so when he got here he carved another.”
One of the kids immediately shot his hand into the air. Oh good. Another question.
“Why not a watermelon?”
Another child, another hand.
“What tools did he use to carve with?”
And another.
“If he lost his turnip wouldn’t he have lost his hell coals too?”
And another.
“Did he carve scary faces into them like we do?”
And another.
“Didn’t the pumpkins rot?”
Another.
“How did he carry them? Do pumpkins have handles?”
The questions came as a barrage; I barely had time to answer one before the next appeared like an unwelcome hiccup.
“Look, it wasn’t as if he had a bag of groceries,” I finally tried to explain. “He used whatever he had available.” I rattled off the best I could a list of answer: He carved with whatever he could, he used a candle instead of coals, he carried it like a rock, he carved whatever he felt like - it amused him, and so forth. “Sometimes,” I said gravely as I leant closer, illuminating my face with the fire, “Sometimes he would carve a scene of children being eaten by the devil into his pumpkin.”
The kids laughed. “He did not!” they proclaimed, then they finished their ‘smores and ran off to play, completely unaware that someone, somewhere, was right now carving a pumpkin.
(c) All images and photographs, unless otherwise specified, are created and owned by me.
(c) Victor Wiebe
(design by remyrequinart: @remyrequenart)