Pumpkin Guts, Glory, and a Grave Demise

Last weekend we went pumpkin-picking.  By pumpkin-picking, I mean that we drove to a church nearby, walked around, and searched for the perfect (already-picked-off-the-vine) pumpkin.  Not exactly a trip to the farm.

Dutch Boy's idea of the perfect pumpkin is one that is tall and skinny and flawless.  I'm a little different.  While normally a bit OCD in many (most?) elements of my life, I find that I prefer pumpkins which have a little character.  This year that meant a squat gourd that was covered in warts.


I love pumpkin patches for two reasons:  the thrill of the hunt and the diversity of sizes, colors, varieties, and shapes.

 

Dutch Boy and I spent awhile online, poring over the pumpkin-carving stencils.  We finally decided on (surprise, surprise) a Labrador Retriever face.  While I enjoy many aspects of pumpkin-carving, the hubby tends to be more dedicated to the complete task, so he gutted and carved while I did the best part: baking the pumpkin seeds.

Yum!!

The finished product looked like this:

 

Lady really enjoyed that her face was immortalized on the face of an orange gourd...so much so that she felt the need to lick it.  Repeatedly.

Sadly, though, the life of this pumpkin was short-lived.  Apparently rain + 90 degree Texas days + bugs = a pumpkin that literally melts on your patio table.  Last night we had to toss it in the dumpster.  Sadness.  [Insert dramatic rendition of Taps played by a bugler here.]