The Great Pumpkin?

MY SON’S DAYS of believing in the unbelievable are growing shorter; I’m pretty sure this is the last year when he’ll accept Santa Claus on faith, though he’s a good sport, and he’ll probably play along for the sake of his sister. But I’m feeling pretty wistful about the end of his belief in magic, so when I discovered two giant pumpkins growing on a vine snaking out of a compost heap I keep ignoring down behind our barn, I decided to try to give him one last gasp of wonder.

I was really proud of myself not only for the inspiration to do this, but for dealing with the planning it took. I found the pumpkins while doing barn chores a few weeks ago; a vine had sprouted and taken over the top of the compost pile and grown three enormous fruits. One had already rotted and collapsed, but the other two were healthy and about as picturesque as could be. I always loved It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, though I must confess that in later life, I find Charlie’s depressive personality a little disturbing. But no matter: the Great Pumpkin is a supernatural holiday being I can get behind.

I found the invitations the kids and I potato-printed last year for the Halloween party we never threw (sigh), and counted on the fact that they wouldn’t remember them. I wrote a note to the kids, signed GP, promising a surprise, and mailed it off. I bought three mini-pumpkins at the market, and wrote clues for a treasure hunt in the yard on them. I even managed to intercept the pumpkin mail (return address: Halloweentown, USA) before the kids found it first. After school last Wednesday, the hunt was on.

I gave them the letter when I picked them up from school; The River read it to his sister. “Who’s GP?” he demanded. “I don’t know. Are there any other clues on the envelope?” Nothing convincing, apparently; he decided that GP must stand for Grandma Peggy, my mother-in-law, who is a champ at mailing the kids cards, and was due to arrive for a visit the next day.

At home, they raced around to look for the surprise. The River found the first baby-pumpkin clue, and they were off. With a little help, they quickly found all three clues, and followed them around behind the barn. In due course, they found the two pumpkins. The Rock was impressed: how did these get here? Must be magic. The River was struggling, though, between wanting to believe, and a growing instinct to analyze and dissect to find a credible truth.

Back at the house, he decided on a plan: handwriting analysis. I, my friend Leslie, visiting for the day, and yes, Grandma Peggy, are all suspects. Looks like a third skeptic is joining this family. But the Rock, bless her, said as she likes to about anything unknown or confounding, “You never know.”

She smiled at her big brother. “I think it WAS the Great Pumpkin.”

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