Pumpkins have long enjoyed a supernatural reputation in our culture, along with the reactions that often brings. While Linus's allegiance to the Great Pumpkin can be laden with all sorts of Waiting For Godot-level existential overtones, Linus's own creator, Charles Schultz, has said he merely thought it funny to have someone confuse Halloween and Christmas.
Still, it's easy to see why the pumpkin is the most numinous and mystical of cultivars. Walk down any small town street at dusk and watch the things leer at you with jagged glee from every porch, each glowing rictus borne from the surgery of small hands.
I'll admit that autumn's chill has always struck me as crackling energy, rather than the preamble to months of frigid weather. As a fan of fall, the pumpkin is always a welcome seasonal garnish. It's round and bright, with enough inherent whimsy to make a fine mascot for a playful season.
The pumpkin is inextricably linked with North American autumn, and the marquee holiday contained therein. At least part of this makes sense, unlike, say, Hawaii and pineapples, or Chicago and those hotdogs covered in phosphorescent "relish." Pumpkins are actually native to the place where they're most celebrated: North America. (My favorite America, by a slim margin.)
Many Native American tribes enjoyed pumpkins. They roasted their seeds and peels, and ate their flesh. But it's a mistake to imagine the Aztecs rolling huge round pumpkins down those wacky step pyramids for laughs. Let's squash those fantasies right here, Gallagher-style. (Actually, let's never do anything Gallagher-style, ever.) The pumpkins of the early Americas were slim, crooked-necked specimens.. In fact, what we call "pumpkins" are indeed a variety of cultivar, with Cucurbita pepo being the primary variety. We tend to put specimens from C. argyrosperma, and C. moschata under our pumpkin umbrella (pumpkinbrella) as well. You don't have to be a botanist to know the difference, as anyone who has had her local pumpkin patch lady soberingly warn, "Not all pumpkins are pie pumpkins, hon," can attest.
Australia is characteristically fast and loose with the rules—those folks call all winter squash "pumpkins." It's better than "gross melons," which is what Jacques Cartier called our fair squash after encountering it during his initial St. Lawrence expedition. (Actually, he called them gros melons, which translates roughly from the French as "big melons.")
If that's all Greek to you, then you may want to take a look at this: pepon (πέπων). That's what the ancient Athenians would have called the pumpkin, had they been so fortunate as to have any. But Europe missed out for most of history. That's good, since they may not have been ready for the pumpkin.
When Hollywood inevitably takes the saga of the Great Pumpkin's struggle for recognition to the silver screen, this is probably the pumpkin they'll cast to portray him. At 2,032 pounds, the world's largest pumpkin could also easily stand in for Jabba the Hutt. It could also make a mind-shatteringly terrifying Jack O'-Lantern.
While our Jack-O'-Lanterns might be bulging, rotund affairs now, such was not always the case. Back in Ireland, the first Jack-O'-Lanterns were carved from turnips. The eponymous Jack, goes the folkloric story, was tricked by the devil (who else?) and forced to wander the land as a spirit. Hard up for a light source, he carved out the nearest turnip, and the rest is (sort of) history. When Irish immigrants came to the Americas, they brought the habit and the holiday, and now we ritually hollow gourds in mid-autumn.
Back in Ireland, though, people are still carving out gourds and roots. It's sad, really, when you consider that the world's largest turnip is only about 85 pounds. That's a mere fraction of the world's largest pumpkin--but still enough to pique Snoop Dogg's interest.
Whether, like Snoop, you're interested in horticulture, or just like pumpkins, you'll be glad to know they're rich in potassium, vitamin A, and fiber. Of course, your local Foods For Living has delicious pie pumpkins, gourds, and winter squash of all sorts, just ready to be devoured. Anyone dressed as their favorite FFL employee gets 10% off the gourd of their choice!
Happy Autumn!
