AI-generated illustration for The Mountain Thread. An imagined autumn porch, not a photograph of the festival.

 

Moe says he’s going to Pumpkins & Pilsners in Bond Park on Saturday to find a pumpkin for his porch. He wants one with a good flat side for carving. I told him to be grateful he doesn’t have to carve a turnip.

He thought I was making that up. Fair enough. But before the pumpkin became our Halloween lantern, people were cutting frightening faces into turnips. If you’ve ever struggled to get a spoon around the inside of a pumpkin, imagine doing the same job with a solid root vegetable. By the time you finished, you might have looked a little frightening yourself.

It was a familiar Halloween custom in Ireland and Britain. According to Galway City Museum, people hollowed out turnips, cut eyes and mouths into them and put candles inside. Then they set the lanterns on walls and gates or hung them from trees to startle somebody passing in the dark.

Now picture coming along a quiet lane and noticing a small, unpleasant face glowing at eye level. You don’t need a complicated ghost story to understand the effect. You need a turnip and a neighbor with too much time on his hands.

Moe wanted to know how scary a turnip could possibly be, so I pointed him toward the National Museum of Ireland’s “Ghost turnip”. Have a look at that face. It doesn’t seem interested in handing out candy. It looks as though it would like a word about where you parked.

He studied it for a moment and said he was definitely getting a pumpkin.

AI-generated illustration for The Mountain Thread, inspired by the National Museum of Ireland’s “Ghost turnip”. An imagined fresh lantern beside a country lane, not a photograph of the museum object.

 

The Turnip Had a Good Run

That museum face comes with a little history of its own. In 1943, a teacher near Fintown, County Donegal, sent the museum a turnip lantern of a kind used locally around 1900. Museum artist Eileen Barnes made and painted a plaster-cast model, which is what the museum displays.

I’m glad they explain that. Otherwise, I’d be wondering how they kept a turnip looking so lively for all those years when I can’t keep one respectable in the refrigerator.

The custom traveled with Irish emigrants to America, where pumpkins were plentiful and easier to carve. People could keep the fun of making a lighted face while changing what they made it from. That seems like a sensible way for a tradition to survive: bring along the part you enjoy and accept a little help from the local produce.

You can see the attraction. A pumpkin gives you a generous surface to work on, with room for a crooked grin and a second attempt at an eyebrow. It also gives the whole family something to discuss, usually while one person does the scooping.

Moe says he likes to plan his design before he starts. I admire that. Most of us begin with a picture in our heads and spend the rest of the afternoon explaining why the finished pumpkin looks different.

Choosing This Year’s Face

That brings us back to Saturday and the important business of picking one out. Moe is still looking for a flat side, but now he’s also considering the expression. Friendly? Startled? Mildly disappointed? I told him the last one might be easiest. Just imagine the pumpkin has seen the grocery bill.

There’ll be plenty else to enjoy at Pumpkins & Pilsners, which runs October 10, from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m., at Bond Park, 170 MacGregor Avenue. The Estes Park Education Foundation lists live music, craft beer, food trucks, pumpkin picking and children’s activities. Proceeds support students, teachers and staff in the school district.

Entry is free; purchases and individual activities may cost extra. Check the organizer’s page for updates, leave time for the music, and settle who’s carrying the pumpkin before the committee chooses the largest one.

When you get it home, you’ll have a little history to tell while somebody works on the face. Before all those orange porch grins, there were turnips glowing on gates and making people hurry along a dark road. Our pumpkins come from a long tradition of finding something in the garden and giving the neighbors a fright.

Moe says he might buy a turnip too, just to put beside his pumpkin. Apparently, he wants the pumpkin to know how good it has it.