A few weeks ago we took my trusty Chevrolet Silverado out to Sauvie Island to see what we would find.
A one hundred and eleven pound pumpkin caught our eye, and it did not let go. We collectively tossed it into the back of the truck and almost took a group photo but I think someone stepped in the mud and we got distracted.
The pumpkin charmed the floor with its elegant form. We would tell stories about the pumpkin, of all the cold nights it must have been through as it grew to its great size, dwarfing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. We took guesses at how many rats could survive inside the pumpkin and for how long. We wondered if anyone would notice if a single rat lived inside the pumpkin and how long that single rat could survive without anyone noticing.
We thought about making some soup with the pumpkin, but then the idea that it might be rotten was brought up and I think everyone lost interest in making soup.
In time, she grew old. As December rolled around we knew it was near end of days for our old friend.
So, we played Smashing Pumpkins and took our friend out on a tarp on the front lawn and split her open with a baseball bat.
Pictured are her remains in the dumpster behind Anna Mann. A proper burial. 
