Back when I was an English child growing up in Cayman, Halloween was a new and exciting prospect.
It wasn’t really celebrated in the UK in those days, but was already big in the US, so, of course, that stateside influence trickled down into the Caribbean. As a kid, I was hardly going to question the opportunity to dress up and get free candy.
There weren’t many costumes available to buy in the local shops, so our mum would make us some. We’d also get masks from Comart in George Town (where Old Havana Cigars is now located), in its upstairs store known as Fantastique. They were those old-style ones with a thin piece of elastic stapled onto either side, boasting the tensile strength of antique silk thread. My ears suffered many the twang over the years, as my big head pushed the material beyond its breaking point.
Even though I’m now in my fifties, I still love Halloween as much as I did when I was young. You’ll be happy to know I’ve left the trick-or-treating behind, but decorating the house, having a party and dressing up, are still firmly on my annual schedule.
The one thing we had never attempted until a few years ago was carving pumpkins. I’d seen them on TV, and they’d kind of caught my eye, but when we were in Toronto around Halloween and I saw them glowing on people’s doorsteps, well, I was mesmerised.
My nephews and niece were at the perfect age to give it a try, and so my best friend and housemate Lynne, and I, decided we would have a pumpkin-carving affair at our home. What could be more fun?
As the date approached, I headed to the local supermarket to pick up some pumpkins. The only good thing about them was that they weren’t terribly expensive. They were, however, unwieldy and heavy. By the time I’d staggered enough of them to my shopping cart, I had to lean into it to get it to move.
“Halloween party, I see,” said a dear friend as I wended my way down the aisles.
“Guess you’re in for a feast!” said another, watching me stretch out my legs to get some welly behind my cart.
The back of my SUV was as packed with costumes, decor, and nonsense, as ever, and so finding space for the huge, spherical, orange fruits proved to be quite the task. Just when I thought I had the last one settled, it made a break for it and rolled towards freedom, hitting the tarmac, and, despite being dented, managed to make it a few feet before spinning to a halt. I made a mental note that that particular one would be mine.
Next, I had to get them all out of the vehicle and into the house, where they would remain until our party the next evening. With no trolley at hand, Lynne and I could only manage two at a time. It was an arduous process, conveying them to the kitchen. Whose great idea was this again?
Naturally, I had completely overbought when it came to carving kits. I was terrified the shops would run out and I wanted to make sure everyone had their own tools.
The next evening, we covered a table with plastic (please, take this piece of advice, if none other) and set our pumpkins upon it. The family members arrived, we gave them food and drink, and then handed them their carving kits.
“It’ll be so much fun,” said we, the uninitiated.
The first thing you learn about pumpkins is that their skins, or rinds, or whatever you call them, are thick and tough. I decided to cut a jagged top in mine, which, even with the correct pumpkin carving knife, took some serious muscle that I didn’t have.
The kids, seeing Auntie Vicki sweating over her project, made the right decision to just go with a simple round top.
Then, we had to pull our tops free of the main bodies, which revealed stringy, messy innards. It was like Halloween meets ‘Grey’s Anatomy’.
In went the scoops. First, we had to get rid of the seeds and flesh, which repulsed the children. (“Auntie Vicki, it’s horrible!”) And then we had to scrape the walls thin so it would be easier to cut a pattern on the outside.
Let me just say, I don’t know who cleans and roasts their own seeds, but how do they find the time and energy? Even if you manage to divest the seeds of pumpkin viscera (which is a Herculean task), you then have to spread them out on a sheet, spray them, bake them… I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
Finally, we were ready to carve our patterns into our pumpkins. Tight corners were a challenge, and some of the Jack-O-Lanterns ended up with more dental issues than initially planned, due to a wayward slice. Nonetheless, the results for everyone looked fantastic once we turned off the lights and lit candles inside them. It had definitely been worth all the work. The children were thrilled – that alone made me feel better about my skinned fingers and sore shoulders.
They weren’t the only happy ones – the chickens around the house had a field day with the mounds of pumpkin and seeds.
We proudly displayed them on our front porch for a few days… which is when we discovered why this was a great idea in colder climes.
On the third day, we noticed that the pumpkins were looking a bit depressed. By the fourth day, they definitely could have used some shots of Botox. It just went downhill from there.
The heat of Cayman was, strangely, not conducive to long-term preservation of large, carved fruit sitting in the outdoors. It was when the faces starting folding in on themselves that we figured it was time to say ‘goodbye’ to them. The only ones who were really upset about the removal at that point were the flies.
We’ve carved a lot of pumpkins since then, and we’ve learned some valuable lessons along the way. They are heavy and hard work but you really don’t have to be a great artist for them to look fabulous as they glow in the dark. Definitely buy the proper carving kits, as trying to substitute butter knives will only end in tears. And make sure you throw them out before they really become rancid, or the scariest thing about Halloween won’t just be the ghosts.
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