Tuesday, 11 November 2008

Pumpkin soup

Pumpkin soup
enough to feed us
for a week.


The smallest pumpkin - about 6 inches across, is still sitting on my window ledge. In pale orange glory, it's been a great talking point, prompting tales of wide-eyed wonder since I brought it home and brushed the earth from it's base. It seems to have a magical air about it, like something from a fairy tale. The others - all giants - from this year's bumper crop, have been carved for Halloween and chunked up to go into soup. Usually, our wrinkled, slightly pathetic crop only makes it to the face carving session, but we must have done something differently this year as they reached competition proportions, growing bigger by the day.

But we were worried - how to get the enormous fruits home before the pumpkin thieves sneaked them away first?

Pumpkin thieves must be an odd breed, peeping out from behind gnarled trees, eyeing up the plots with binoculars from hiding places in the bushes, geared out with wheelbarrows, old potato sacks, strong backs, and suitable trucks, sneaking about silently, under cover of darkness, weighed down with the collected booty.

How to carry such monstrous fruits home from the plot if we let them grow any bigger ? We huffed and puffed and shuffled our awkward way, left a bit, forward a bit, through the gates, sharing the heavy fruits that weighed like sleeping children, knowing that we had foiled the robbers.

So, pumpkin soup for the first time ever. Just a chunk of these fruits made enough delicious soup to feed us for a week. Wonderful. But sometimes, "Would you like some more?"can have an air of desperation about it. It seemed like it came from a never ending pot. A magic pot.