Welcome! I’m having a difficult time drumming up Atlantic-area news, my friends. So many annual or otherwise planned events have been canceled. Gatherings are also limited. So, I hope you don’t mind reading my musings.
Did you enjoy the peak fall leaves in the Atlantic community last week? We’ve had such a gorgeous autumn. I’ve reveled in the beauty of every season this year.
While I tend to think of leaves as the primary symbol of the season, pumpkins definitely are a close second. I remember one pumpkin-related event very well.
The Atlantic community is dotted with fresh vegetable and fruit stands throughout summer and fall. I’ve often bought delicious tomatoes, corn, squash, blueberries, and much more at these stands.
About thirteen years ago I got it into my head to make homemade pumpkin whoopie pies, otherwise known as pumpkin gobs. I had a totally free day, so I decided to make them from scratch.
I bought a pie pumpkin from a stand, baked it, waited for it to cool, scooped out the flesh, mixed the ingredients, dropped the dough onto pans, and popped them into the oven. Then I made the marshmallow filling and waited for the cookies to bake, and then cool enough to assemble them. The whole process took hours.
My then three-year-old daughter ran into the room, her caramel-colored curls bouncing against her neck. I remember the moment so vividly: The sun shone from the west, painting rectangular patches of light on the blue carpet in our kitchen. The room was warm and smelled of pumpkin spice, and my precious daughter followed the smell into the kitchen.
My moment had arrived. I beamed. “Honey, want to try something special? They’re really good cookies.”
I handed her a pumpkin whoopie pie, the fruit of at least three hours’ labor. I waited with bated breath.
She held the cookie in both hands, took a nibble, and wrinkled her nose.
“It’s too tasty,” she announced, dropping the cookie into my hand, and skipped out to the living room.
I blinked, staring at the cookie. She rejected my beautiful whoopie pies!
I ate one, and thought they tasted perfectly fine. They could’ve used more cinnamon, but they were good enough to enjoy. The recipe yielded at least three dozen, and I think I had to give a lot of them away, since I had no help eating them.
Isn’t that how life goes sometimes? We get an idea, romanticize it, throw ourselves into bringing the idea to fruition, hold our breath, and put the finished project out there for others to interpret. Sometimes it’s a “Wow!” Other times it’s a dud. Regardless of the outcome, I made a funny memory that day. I feel sure this memory will always draw a smile. And I hope it made you chuckle!
Have a wonderful week! Blessings!