Pagan
Parable~Poke Along Pumpkin
By Charlotte Bennardo, Illustrated by Lindsey Becker
“Hello! You over there,” said one pumpkin to another as they ripened in the warm sun, “What do I look like? What name would fit me?”
“Hmmmm, I think you are the tallest pumpkin in the field. How about Longfellow?”
“I like it! And you already have a thick and sturdy shell. You can be Shelley.”
One pumpkin began rolling round, “What about me, what about me?” he called.
“You’re Wild!” laughed Shelley and Longfellow.
All day the pumpkins named each other except one quiet little pumpkin, still very green and quite small.
“What kind of a name can we give you, little pumpkin?” asked Longfellow. “What are you waiting for, November?”
The field rippled with laughter.
“I’ll grow when I’m ready, and not before,” said the little pumpkin.
“You’re so pokey and slow to grow,” teased Shelley. “That’s it!” he cried, “We’ll call you Poke Along!” Giggles and snorts floated over the patch.
“Pokey pumpkin! Poke Along!” cried some crows wandering through the fields looking for bugs and spilled seeds.
Poke Along didn’t care; he wasn’t ready and that was that. He snuggled into his vines and the warm earth to snooze.
October arrived. All the pumpkins rushed to grow the last little bit bigger and rounder and taller so that people would pick them for their Jack-O-Lanterns. No pumpkin wanted to be left in the fields. Poke Along didn’t seem to be bothered that he was behind in his growing and that people passed him by without a glance.
“What’s so good about being a Jack-O-Lantern?” he asked Donne, who’d finished growing a week ago and was hiding a small mushy spot. He needed to be picked very soon.
“Don’t you want to light up the Halloween night?”
“No,” said Poke Along. “People just cut holes in your beautiful shell, leave you outside to wither and rot, then throw away your seeds. I want to be helpful.”
Donne looked confused. “What can a pumpkin do, other than be a Jack-O-Lantern?”
“Lots of things!” cried Poke Along. “My shell can give insects food before they go underground for winter. Some of my seeds can feed birds today, and some can be stored for later by squirrels and chipmunks. My pulp can feed deer and small animals. I can help so many others, instead of just looking silly or scary for one night."
“I would rather be a Jack-O-Lantern,” said Donne.
A week before Halloween, more people arrived and picked all the pumpkins in the field except Poke Along. He was still a little green. Halloween came and went. Poke Along was alone. Even Farmer forgot about him.
November grew colder and colder until one night, there was a frost. Poke Along shivered. There were no other pumpkins to cuddle with. His leaves started to wither.
Maybe I should have finished growing sooner, he thought tearfully. Maybe being a Jack-O-Lantern was better than rotting alone in the field, forgotten and useless.
“You’ve missed Halloween,” squawked a shiny black crow scrounging for a stray worm for breakfast one day. “Too bad, too, since you look like such a nice pumpkin.”
Poke Along sighed sadly. “Now I’m finally finished and no one will ever know. I really am a poke along pumpkin.” He would be left in the field to rot, then soon be covered by winter snow.
The crow flapped away as Farmer and his wife came tramping through the field. Poke Along strained his vines to hear what they said.
“I tell you, there has to be one!” cried Farmer’s wife. “All I need is one!”
Farmer shook his head. “It’s too late. Nothing’s left in late November.”
“Look!” She pointed at Poke Along. “I told you there would be one pumpkin left!” She ran and picked up Poke Along, now heavy, round and very orange. Gently, she wiped the dirt off, then handed him to Farmer to carry back. In the warm kitchen he was washed and set on the table.
“Oh, you are a special pumpkin!” she told him. “You’ll make the best pumpkin pie for our Thanksgiving dinner. Your shell will be a special treat for our pigs and your seeds will fill my bird and squirrel feeders.”
“Don’t forget to save some seeds for me to plant for next year, dear,” said Farmer. “Imagine, perfect pumpkins in November! Never saw anything like him. I’m glad he took his time to finish growing.”
Moral: Everything comes in its own time. Don't rush--when the time is "ripe" you'll be ready!