Scurvy Pumpkin Hunter
Halloween may be over but pumpkin may yet be on the menu. I’m talking about, of course, the Pumpkin Taco. Better make a run from the Bell or you’ll have little to be thankful for this month.
The reader of this blog may already know that we recently moved to Portland, Oregon.
Located about 10 miles northwest of downtown is a place called Sauvie Island. It’s the largest island on the mighty Columbia River and one of the largest river islands in the United States. I’d never heard of it before moving here.
The island is about 26,000 square acres and home to primarily farmland and protected wildlife areas and even a nude beach. Ever since we arrived it has been a popular destination to for us to visit for photography, picking our own produce, and bird watching.
It’s also home to some of the biggest pumpkin patches in the Portland area, including one that is “haunted,” the corn maze bit, yada yada yada.
It was also where my wife wanted to go pumpkin shopping. So, one find day, we grabbed our machetes and headed out to the island. After all, what could possibly go wrong?
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The War on Halloween
What can I add to this wonderfully written and thoughtful post? I had the idea to search the phrase “war on Halloween” and found this. Make no mistake: The culture war is a conflagration that burns brightly still. I think I’ll put a little of that fire in my pumpkin to light the way.
The Nightmare Before October
I was taking my wife to dinner last night on Friday, September 30th, when – whooop! I had to stop the car and drive around the block. Yep, there it was. Spongebob Squarepants taking a dump on a pumpkin in a neighbor’s yard. Holy sheep shit and Merry Christmas!
So yeah. There it is. Christmas retail displays were out before Labor Day and the Halloween decorations went up while it was still October. Call me a fuddy duddy. Call me a stick in the mud. (That’s my costume this year.) Say I’m too old-fashioned and traditional. Well, phooey. I don’t like it.
Nothing says holiday spirit like a plastic piece of crap made in China that you purchased at the local WalMart. Now that’s festive!
A few houses down the block we spotted another one.
Yes, these are my neighbors. These are the “We Don’t Pick Up Beer Bottles In The Street” kind of people. They may not care about my car’s tires, but at least I can count on them when the chips are down, when it is time to dumb down the neighborhood.
Oh, the sound of rolling dice to me is music in the air, / ’cause I’m a gambling Boogie Man, although I don’t play fair. / It’s much more fun, I must confess, with lives on the line. / Not mine, of course, but yours, old boy, / now, that’ll be just fine.
Thanks for the early reminder, people. Now I know what I must do. Kidnap Mr. Sandy Claws!
Rise of the incestuous pumpkin
Ever write and waste a throwaway-line as a comment on someone else’s blog? Then, once it’s too late realize, “Hey. That was actually not that bad. I wish I’d saved that for myself.”
I call takebacks.
My fellow blogger Blurt had a very nicely written piece entitled Hey, Pumpkin today. I liked the post so much I came up with a little joke about the word “pumpkin” when commenting. I wrote the line myself, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that I wasn’t the first to come up with it. The internet tends to quash that feeling pretty quick. Any idea you could possibly have has already probably been done umpteen times. Still, that doesn’t mean someone new can’t come along and rewrite the same thing in a new way without cheating.
Anyway, here’s what I had to say about pumpkins.
To me, to unravel the real mystery about pumpkin, you have to get down to the etymology of the word.
The word is comprised of two parts: Pump and kin. “Pump” is a euphemism for sex and “kin” means “relatives.”
Well, at least I thought it was good. If you don’t like it you can kiss my pumpkins! Hurmph!