In one weak moment in the grocery store on the way to Tennessee, I spotted them. Those little pie pumpkins that would be perfect for each of the six younger grandchildren who would be coming on this trip. The idea was to decorate them with Sharpie markers so that they could take them home and start decorating for Halloween. I carefully picked six and placed them gently in the buggy. In my perfect Hallmark movie vision, the family would gather at the table that I would cover in rolled paper and we’d stand in awe as our little artists went to work, safeguarding the permanent markers to be sure the creative flair stayed at the pumpkin table and not on a wall. But first, we’d draw a large pumpkin patch with colored pencils to set the mood and bring on the Halloween chill-in-the-air vibes. We’d draw a fence, bats, cats, owls, ghosts, leaves, and, of course, pumpkins.
It wasn’t ten minutes after covering the table in the rolled paper for drawing our pumpkins that I noticed a stray Sharpie marker cover without the pen on the table amid the color pencils. It sent me into panic mode for every white wall in this place. I’d accidentally left one Sharpie in the bag, and one of the grand young’uns had found it and gotten a head start on the pumpkin decorating, a lot like finding the Christmas presents and having a private gift opening session unto themselves.
It was Beckham, better known as Buckey, only spelled differently from the famous all-in-one gas station chain he loves. He’s the one who is always a step ahead of everyone else, keeping us all on our chess game strategy of which move he’ll make next so we can try to guard our Queen. He’s the checkmate kid of the bunch.
Then there’s River, who still wears his yellow and black Transformers robe every day. We got it for him for Christmas in 2023 with a little room to grow, and here he is in 2025, still rocking the robe. He’s usually leading every outdoor adventure and thinks like a scientist, always experimenting in the physics of things. He led the final pumpkin activity that happened all in the same day and was never planned – at least by me.
And then there is Saylor, who wrapped her pumpkin in pink Washi tape and called it a day. There are still Sawyer, Noli, and Silas, whose pumpkins remain ready and full of possibility for pie or carving. Safe from the plans River had.
Out on the porch overlooking the valley with the mountains in the distance, I noticed Noli, the youngest granddaughter, along with Sawyer, the second oldest grandson, and my son Marshall, their dad, watching something off the side of the balcony. Sure they’d spotted a family of young bear cubs with their lumbering mother tumbling in play, I rushed over only to discover that two of the perfect pie pumpkins I’d gently placed in the grocery cart were now part of a full-on science project as the kids hurled them down the steep hill on the side of the house we’re renting for the week in the Tennessee mountains.
I was scared a kid would go tumbling down the hill next, but my instinct to holler for them to come back inside was quelled by my son, who reminded me that they are used to scaling mountains barefooted and all since their other grandparents have a mountain house they visit regularly and run just as wild there. “They’re okay. Let’s watch what happens,” he assured me.
And sure enough, everyone is safe, even after two of the pumpkins split wide open, revealing fleshy pulp, pumpkin slime, and seeds. Saylor came in, wanting to know if we could roast them. So here was yet the actual final pumpkin activity that she stretched out and made fun. We spread single layer onto parchment paper and revved up the oven.
Thirty minutes later, we had roasted pumpkin seeds.
I thought back to the careful selection of the pumpkins and the gentle placement of each in the cart. How my vision was so limited and idyllic, and how much further the kids stretched the whole pumpkin experience – – from drawing them to decorating them to rolling them down a hill to roasting the seeds and feeling the stringy insides to eating the seeds, all salty and nutty and warm.
And in these moments, I realize how much more I can learn from my children and grandchildren than they will ever learn from me. To stand back and watch them discover. To let it all unfold outside my own vision for how I see it happening – because my ideas are limited, and theirs are boundless.
To savor each
moment take it all in
for under the surface
are delicious seeds
I never imagined,
just waiting…..
Common Threads 