Most people don’t know this, but when my kids were small, I became rather adept at carving jack-o-lanterns. I thought that I could put away the carving tools when I became older and just make pumpkin pies or pumpkin bread, the way a respectable grandma should.

That’s what I thought.

“Do you want to go to the pumpkin farm and get a pumpkin?” I asked my grandson, envisioning the colorful photos I would take among the pumpkins, gourds, and Indian corn.

That’s what I thought.

But when arrived there, he ran from one thing to the next so fast that there was no hope of getting a picture of anything but a blur. He petted the farm animals, and ran through the corn maze where I got lost on the muddy path. I thought I’d never find my way out of the thing.

We now would select a nice child-size pumpkin to take home.

That’s what I thought.

He choose the largest pumpkin he could find off the $12 table, while I looked longingly at the smaller $3 pumpkins all the other children were carrying away.

We could just set the huge pumpkin on the porch for a harvest decoration, I figured.

That’s what I thought.

We were hardly inside the door until my grandson was ready to carve. “I want a scary face!” he declared.

We surfed the Internet looking for designs. Such artistic creations I’ve never seen in my life! I thought jack-o-lanterns were just a mouth, nose and two eyes, not masterpieces of vegetable creativity.

That’s what I thought.

My grandson had his own idea of the perfect pumpkin and drew a picture of what it should look like. Thanks goodness, his idea was closer to mine than to the more elaborate stuff.

“Grandma will do the knife part. Get a spoon and you can help with the inside.” He assured me that he knew how to use a knife. I assured him that he didn’t.

We decided do the honors outdoors so we wouldn’t have a big mess in the kitchen. After much cutting and tugging, I finally managed to cut the top off. Now he could scoop out the pulp inside.

That’s what I thought.

“Yuck! I’m not touching that stuff!” he proclaimed. How a boy could like snails and frogs and not the inside of pumpkin, I’m not sure, but I got to scoop out the pulp too.

Bees were attracted by the fresh smell of pumpkin and began buzzing around my head. I swatted bees away with one hand and carved with the other. This job should be completed in about half an hour.

That’s what I thought.

“You’re not doing it right! Carve this part! Where are the eyes? There’s still three seeds left inside!” proclaimed the pint-sized critic. Big pumpkins have extra thick and extra tough shells, I discovered. We labored on into the long afternoon, me carving, him supervising.

The neighbor across the street decided it was the perfect time for a bonfire, and the smoke drifted over into my yard. “Where’s the smoke coming from?” Surely it wouldn’t continue.

That’s what I thought.

We inhaled smoke, scooped pulp, fought bees, carved pumpkin, and wiped sweat until the last feature was carved, the last plug removed, and the pumpkin was finished – one tooth on top, two on bottom, just like the picture. By the time we finished cleaning up pumpkin seeds and hosing down the patio, I was ready to retire from the pumpkin carving business — forever this time.

That’s what I thought.

I may have to change my mind because I don’t know whose grin was the biggest, my grandson’s or the pumpkin’s.

Copyright 2004 Sheila Moss