PUMPKIN EVERYTHING

by Tunnel Writer

(based on a true story)

Catherine bounced from foot to foot trying to keep her excitement at bay. She knew carving pumpkins was a treat for the children Below. However, she had overheard William complain about how quickly the pumpkins go bad after carving. In years past, several had to be thrown out before he could get to doing anything with them. The only thing they were good for at that point was to feed Arthur a special treat. She couldn’t help but come up with this brilliant idea. 

Here she stood, waiting for the children to arrive to help carry the supplies. 

In no time, they found themselves in the dining chamber. 

“First thing we need to do is put plastic on the tables,” she said as she handed plastic tablecloths to a couple of the older children. They hurriedly covered several long tables. 

“Now you need to choose a pumpkin. So, girls go first, and line up.” 

After the girls picked their pumpkins and found a seat, it was the boys’ turn. 

“Geoffrey took the pumpkin I wanted,” Eric whined as he pointed to the long-stemmed pumpkin in Geoffrey’s hand. 

“Eric, there are plenty of nice pumpkins left. You’ll just have to choose one of them.” Catherine sighed with a tinge of frustration. 

Eric pouted as he grabbed a pumpkin. 

“I wanted that one,” he grumbled as he plopped down beside Geoffrey. 

Geoffrey bit his bottom lip and quickly switched his pumpkin with Eric’s. 

When all the children had their pumpkins, Catherine looked over and noticed Eric’s smiling face as he looked at his long-stemmed pumpkin. Catherine grinned as she gently squeezed Geoffrey’s shoulder. 

“That was a very grownup and unselfish thing you did. I’m proud of you,” she whispered in Geoffrey’s ear. 

Geoffrey beamed at her as she gave him a quick hug before turning to a nearby table full of paints. 

“Since the girls got to pick their pumpkins first, the boys get to pick their paints first. OK, boys, line up.”

It seemed to take forever to get each child to pick the colors they wanted and to squeeze some of their chosen colors onto their plastic palettes. But in no time at all, the children were painting away. The giggles were contagious as Catherine roamed around the tables and complimented the work. 

“OH, NO!!” Catherine heard little Cathy cry out. Catherine knelt down by the three-year-old. “What’s wrong? Is there a way I can help?” she asked the crying child. 

“I got paint on my clothes.” She hiccupped. 

Catherine smiled gently at her. “It’s OK. The paint is washable and should come out easily,” she said as she patted the small girl’s golden curls. 

“I’m all done,” eight-year-old Emerson said as he pointed to his mostly black pumpkin.

Catherine smiled when she saw the boy was covered with paint from his fingers to his elbows. “I think there’s more paint on you than on your pumpkin.” She chuckled as she led him to a sink to help him wash up and whispered a prayer of thanks that the paint came off with very little scrubbing. Once he was finished, she turned to find a line of children waiting to wash up. In no time, they were all cleaned up and were playing tag. 

Catherine caught Samantha and twelve-year-old Grace giggling. 

“I see you girls found something amusing.” Catherine grinned at them. 

That put Grace over the edge, and she started laughing so hard she could barely speak. “You can tell the pumpkins done by the girls and the ones done by the boys.” She belly-laughed. 

Sure enough, all the girls’ pumpkins were colorful, with pinks, purples, and blues. The designs were detailed and cute. The boys used mostly blacks and reds, and it looked like they threw paint on them. Most didn’t have much of a design, and those that did, you needed to squint to see it. 

Catherine started to laugh right along with them. 

“Catherine, I see you find pumpkin painting amusing,” Vincent said, walking in, which made Catherine laugh even harder. 

A month later, the smell of pumpkin radiated through the tunnels. Pumpkin bread, pumpkin cookies with cream cheese icing, pumpkin soups, and pumpkin pies were put into baskets to be delivered to helpers. 

“Sorry, Arthur, no pumpkins for you this year.” William grinned at the raccoon.