A 1767-POUND PUMPKIN WALKS INTO A BAR....

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (10-07-21)- Please remember small business in your town during this coronavirus pandemic

     Because we wanted to see what farm produce stands would have looked like if we had moved to Chernobyl, we attended the Pumpkin Weigh-Off in Ridgefield, Connecticut last Saturday. There, the huge behemoth giganto-gourds were sitting in a row waiting to be measured, to see which would claim the title of most pumped-up pumpkin. I had no idea that Ridgefield was known for giant pumpkins; I was scanning the fields for giant ridges instead.

     A festive atmosphere surrounded the proceedings, and there were vendor booths, food stands and children's activities. We brought Gidget, the cutest dog in the world with us, and she wanted to check out the petting zoo. There she could have served either as a petter or pettee. She was fascinated by the goats and couldn't fathom that these animals are the Greatest Of All Time. No argument from me, nor did they even look capable of the easiest goat yoga pose, whereas Gidget does "downward dog" all the time except if we say the word, "down."

     There were some other awards leading up to the big event. There was one for the "Prettiest Pumpkin" (I'm not kidding actually), for instance. I don't usually get too excited about winter squash, but I thought this particular one WAS kind of sexy, and I couldn't help thinking that the feeling was mutual. If there was a "Miss Congeniality" prize I didn't hear anything about it, and the "Best Supporting Pumpkin in a Musical or Comedy" award must have been handed out before I got there.

     The gaiety carried on, a duo made mellifluous music under the gazebo, and then a ceremonious official announced that it was time to declare the winner. The runners-up were named, and in the event that the largest pumpkin could not fulfill its duties, I assume one of those would be pressed into action. At last the moment came, and lifted onto the scale with a backhoe and block and tackle, the largest pumpkin weighed in at 1767 pounds of exciting, dynamic, un-kinetic energy. I had a growing list of questions, like how do you know when a 1767-pound pumpkin is finished growing? And where does a pumpkin like that go after the last scale reading has been recorded?

     You could make about three thousand pies out of it, but don't expect your friends to take your calls after the first week. I guess you could refurbish it into a carriage like in "Cinderella," but you'd better park it out in front of the Ferrari stretch limo when you arrive at the ball so the handsome prince can't see that, and be sure and dress to impress. If you're wearing glass slippers, he's going to see right through them to that band-aid on your foot.

     I guess that beached whale will end up in my garage, along with everything else that I can't figure out what to do with, like the hot tub motor I've been saving, either because it does work or because it doesn't, I can't remember which. Every morning I find an excuse to be out of the house when my wife wakes up to corner me and ask me what I'm going to do with that damn pumpkin. I know in my heart that each time I glance over at it, it will have moved closer to the stairs, until one day, when I wake up with a start in my bed in a cold sweat, there it would be, it's eye-less face looming over me. Far from being frightened, I'm ecstatic, because I've been fine-tuning my Rod Serling impression all my life for just this moment.

     The last thing I want to do is fat-shame a defenseless pumpkin, but this is the end of the column so it will be the last thing I do. That huge pumpkin is basically a vegetable at this point. To call it a squash is the understatement of the year if you happen to be underneath it.

     In America, anything that's worth doing is worth overdoing. Bigger is always better and loudest usually gets the most attention. We are not a nation known for subtlety. If people can get this excited about a huge pumpkin, what is the future of small claims court, or the compact car, or the mini-skirt, or Tiny Tim, or all the good things that used to come in small packages? I'm not sure. Even though we exchanged numbers, I don't think I'll be calling the "Prettiest Pumpkin." I guess I still like a pumpkin that leaves a little more to the imagination.