Stories and Story-telling

by Angela M. Keyes

THE DWARF ROOTS’ STORY OF THE PUMPKIN SEED

Did you ever hear the story of the Pumpkin Seed that made a feast of his insides, and found his outsides changed most surprisingly, and went down a pig’s throat and was happy? Ever since it happened the Dwarf Roots, who live below the ground, tell it to the pumpkin seeds. They say they heard it from the wind one day when the farmer’s spade laid the ground open and let the wind in. And the wind says he heard the farm children’s grandmother tell it. And she says she heard it from her grandmother. So you see it is an old story, and time you heard it. Then

Throw the nuts in

And let us straight begin.

Before the Dwarf Roots tell the story they stroke their beards that have grown fast into the ground, like hairy threads, and cry out, “Once upon a, twice upon a, thrice upon a time;” and all the little pumpkin seeds lying low in the ground know a story is coming and swell with joy. After that the Dwarf Roots tell the story as ’twas told to me. So

Throw the nuts in

And turn the first about.

And let’s not stop again

Until the tale is out.

Here’s the tale.

Early in the spring, when things with legs all walk abroad and garden folks are born, a little Pumpkin Seed stuck his head above ground. He arrived with his cap on, as pumpkin seeds do, but as soon as possible he shook it off, and looked about him to find out what to do next. And who should he see come trotting down the garden path toward him but a little sniffing, squealing pig, poking his snout into everything and gobbling it up!

Now, how he came to know it the little Pumpkin Seed never could tell, but all of a sudden he sang out:

“I’m for your betters,

Not you, piggy wig,

When juicy I’ve grown

And round and big;

Then I’ll change into something

Which winks and blinks

And with boys and girls

Plays high jinks;

But when I’m out,

Snip, snap, snout,

You may have me,

It’s your turn to shout.”

The little pig was so astonished that he stood straight up on his hind legs and curled his tail in a tight knot, for all the world as if he were a performing pig in a circus. When he was firm on his legs again, he was just going to open his mouth, when he saw the farmer coming down the path, so he ran squealing from the garden. Some Dwarf Roots who tell the story say he was going to gobble up the little Pumpkin, and others say he was going to answer in pig’s rhyme:

“When it’s time to shout,

With my sniffy snout

I’ll smell you out.”

However that may be, the next time he came trotting that way he poked his snout into a wire netting the farmer had put around the kitchen garden to keep him out, so that was the last the little Pumpkin Seed saw of him for many a long day.

But the Pumpkin Seed knew now what he should do. He stood up straight in the sunlight and soft rain, and grew and grew and covered himself with blossoms, and then let them all drop off except one. And out of that he made a little pumpy pumpkin, and by harvest time he had that so fat and round and yellow and juicy that the Dwarf Roots’ mouths water when they tell of it.

The farmer gathered the Pumpkin in a great basket, and his wife scooped out the splendid insides of it and made of them deep rich pies for the Thanksgiving feast that the farmer’s family eat together in thankfulness to God for health and plenty. Everyone comes to the feast: grandfather and grandmother and uncles and aunts and all the children, first cousins and second cousins and third cousins and fourth cousins and fifth cousins, down to the littlest babies that can do nothing, when they’re not feeding and sleeping, but gurgle and crow at their fingers and toes. To be sure, when the grown-ups bite into the deep rich pumpkin pie they can do nothing either but gurgle and smack their lips.

So it was that the inside of the Pumpkin did its part and made a feast and came to glory.

But what of the outside? You shall hear. It happened that very night.

The outside fell into the hands of a boy who could work surprising changes in things. He worked one in the outside of the Pumpkin. Some Dwarf Roots say he turned it into a Jack-o’-lantern, and some say into a goblin. Anyway, there it was that night, stuck in the farmer’s hitching-post and changed most surprisingly. It had a head that glowed like fire in the darkness, and big round eyes that winked and blinked every time the wind blew, and a mouth that grinned from ear to ear when the big boys and girls made the little ones run past it. The little ones would steal up softly, and just when they were near the fiery head the big ones would cry out, “Look out, little uns, the goblin’ll get cher”; and the little ones would dash past, laughing and shrieking.

So it was that the outside of the Pumpkin did its part and played high jinks with the children. Great fun it was; and it kept up until the farmer called out, “Time for bed, boys and girls.”

Just as he said this the wind put the fire out of the Pumpkin’s head and blew him off the hitching post. And the next thing he knew he was going down a pig’s throat, the very piggy wig he met so long ago.

Snip, snap, snout,

This tale’s out:

The pig has him now,

And it’s his turn to shout.

—Angela M. Keyes