Thursday, October 8, 2015

Jack O'Lantern Tells a Humanitarian Tale for the Season

Hello Grafted In Readers,
In keeping with the Fall observance of Thanksgiving in North America, the following story pays tribute to the pumpkin and other garden vegetables many enjoy. Account, places, and characterizations are fictitious, that is, they could occur in reality but may not. Enjoy as you read this tale.

Destined For The Palate
David Russell

My name is Jack O'Lantern. I was born in a laboratory at the Henry Fields Seed Company in Iowa. My conditions were rather sterile. I was dried out and packaged with other seeds.

A little while later, I was at the supermarket near Pharmington, Missouri. John Doyle, whom I understand to be a gardening eficinato purchased me and my companions. We were all O'Lanterns.

"This is the second year I have planted pumpkins, and donate them to the local Woman's Shelter in October. This year they are destined for national TV and the Food Network Hunger Project."

"That's very nice Mr. Doyle," said the clerk, as she bagged his purchase.

"Come back soon, it is always good to see you, sir."

A little while later on a sunny afternoon, Mr. Doyle had the baseball game playing on the radio near the garden. He put in the other plants first: onions, radishes, cabbage, carrots, cucumbers, potatos, and us O'Lanterns.

"I will be back out to water you in a couple days," he said.

"Enjoy your new plots and grow faster than weeds please."

He then turned off the radio and whistled a happy tune as implements were returned to the garage.

Six weeks later it was mid July. The days had been sunny for the most part, nights varied from hot to comfortable. My fellow plants and we O'Lanterns shared quiet contemplation while crows cawed, what complainers they are. Robins sang, finches and cardinals played chase around the Doyle property.

Then unexpectedly thunder claps were heard. Rain started to fall that morning and increase with intensity as the hours passed.

Soon, something called hell or hail started to fall. Intermittent at first and then it too, intensified. I took a couple on the stem.

"Ouch, what's this all about?"

"I am glad to be underground," said the potatos.

"Yeah, your shell should protect you Jack," said the corn, knee-high like the fourth of July.

"Radishes are ruined. Carrots are not far behind," observed the potatos.

Looking at the house, hail was pelting and cracking the shingles on the rooftop. Where was Mr. Doyle?

Eventually the hail and storm gradually subsided. We O'Lanterns, and potatos were still alive!

Six weeks later we O'Lanterns were gently picked, packed and sent off to New York to be a part of the Food Network Thanksgiving Festivities. Arriving there, chef Elton Brown tapped me on the stem and bade me welcome.

"Sorry, you've been chopped," Tim Allen stated to a stack of onions he was slicing.

We were on the Thanksgiving TV show, then anesthetized, re-formed and put in pie crusts for hungry palates to enjoy.


Kevod Yeheveh, His presence create and fill your being with lasting joy!

Mellow Roc

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