In Praise of Pumpkin

This is not my favorite time of year.  Largely, my humbug attitude comes from a decade of working  retail. That’ll take it out of you. I also happen to  find the sight of small colored lights in the night hopelessly depressing.  Sure, they warm my heart and make me feel a pang for the human race, but not in a good way. In a desperate way. This I attribute to where I grew up. Driving around the plains of the Midwest, one can see these twinkling reminders of one’s insignificance from miles away. That’s because in the foreground, background and side-ground, there isn’t anything else. The world is black and unfriendly, save for the pitiful twinkling farm house, a feeble fist held up in the face of Winter.

At least, that is how it struck me when I was thirteen. Never really got past it.

This year, not yet a week into the official Heart of the Season, I must say things don’t look so bad. I’ve decided to combat the seasonal doldrums by praising the simple. We’ve admitted, at our house, that we are get-yer-tree-at-the-lot people. No old fashioned, chop-it-down and drag-it-home-on-skis for us. My daughter thinks they’re too scraggly when you get them from the actual forest, which I might have argued, had I really wanted to go out during these cold short days and sweat my butt off helping to drag a tree home. I’m fine with the lot. I’m grateful for the lot.

Next, cooking. If I were really going simple, I’d buy holiday treats. But they don’t taste as good, lot’s face it. If I’m going to get fat this season, might as well enjoy it as much as humanly possible. And really, when you’re facing the dark of the year, the very bottom of the glass that is the western world’s calendar, eating is a great comfort. So, I’ll start with one of my favorites: pumpkin.

I love pumpkin. Pie, pudding, muffins, cookies, pancakes.  I swear I like these things because I like how simple the main ingredient is. Comes right out of the ground like it has for centuries. You put in the seed and it grows. You can even take the seeds out of the gourd, rinse them, bake them with salt, and  eat them!

Dear reader, I’m not going to get all sustainable and gooey on you (though I like sustainable. Sustainable is good. It is, after all, simple). But I do have to point out that what comes from the ground and ends up on your table is a good thing. The fewer steps in between, the better.

Which is not to say you have to bake and scrape a real squash. You can buy the stuff. I personally love the can. It comes the way it has come for years, with a timeless label. If you get the organic kind it all comes out as one dense chunk. The Libby’s kind comes out loose and orange and lovely. It’s orange for god’s sake. Nobody put in any F 3 or yellow # 5. It just is that color! If this in itself weren’t miracle enough, there is also the shocking brevity of the ingredients list. One word! In this it resembles molasses, also sold in an old fashioned package: a heavy jar that feels good in your hand. It’s downright fun to turn a jar of molasses upside down and watch the viscous black stuff come crawling out. Both my kids like to do this as we pour it into a measuring cup. I love the label: Molasses. In case you’re wondering, as I do every time I use it, molasses is the sugary goodness left over from the multiple boilings of sugar cane leaves. It is, thus,  yet another product to be praised for its minimal processing. Blackstrap comes from the third boiling, and is the richest in flavor.

While I’m at this, I can’t forget honey. In fact, honey ought to be at the top of the list because it is processed, but not by people. There is no stop in any 4000 square foot warehouse made of cinder block out on the Nebraska plain. This stuff is made by the common, annoying, but ever-so-important honey bee. The very symbol of summer, buzzing lazily from one wildflower to the next, collecting, filling up its own private storage bin (you can see, if you look closely, yellow globules of pollen up and down their legs) to be carried back to some mysterious mothership, where it is transformed into another viscous, golden, sugary delight.

Need I try harder to  explain my glee over these things? How terrifically gratifying it is to put products like these in my mouth? It’s the circle of life, sure. Earth, sun, water equals product. But my glee isn’t restricted to the natural. For instance, I also bless and adore my blender, the  Osterizer. One switch: On and Off. Oh, that’s not quite true: two other choices: Hi and Lo. Love it!

So much of what people have made has become hopelessly complex. I realize a lot of this is good. It’s progress. Surgery, for instance. Without the complex changes in this field, we might be stuck with torn ACLs for the rest of our lives. Dental care has extended our lifespan. These things are to be praised. I get that.

But take taxes. They started out such a good idea. Everybody gives some of what they earn in order to provide goods and services for all. Stuff we use collectively, like roads,  schools, and  bridges. What has become of that tidy idea? Endless tomfoolery and bickering and nitpicking. All we wanted was better schools. Nice roads. Now it seems we’re headed full speed towards a fiscal cliff. Was it when we added credit to the system? Interest?

Oh, yawn. If you need me, you’ll find me here, under a scrawny pine tree in the snow, eating pumpkin muffins with honey,way up on a hillside where I can’t see a single Christmas light. The kids can sled (Yes! Slide at rapid speed down hill on a long piece of plastic!). The dog can chase them. This is the stuff dreams are made of. The reason for the season.

Ain’t life grand?