andysworld!

Halloween has always held a special place in our family, marked by a long-standing tradition involving two carved pumpkins meant to ward off evil spirits. In truth, it may have started because of my mother, who is a “Real Witch” (at least, that’s what she’d have you believe), born on Halloween itself! Her influence has certainly kept the spirit alive—quite literally, perhaps.

Growing up in the 80s, pumpkins were a rare sight where I lived. Back then, we didn’t have those big, orange squash that glow so perfectly in the night. Instead, we carved whatever was at hand—turnips and swedes, mostly. If you’ve never hollowed out a turnip, let me tell you, it’s no small feat! They’re tough little things, but my siblings and I would spend hours carving faces into those root vegetables, sticking candles inside, and setting them proudly by the front door.

Fast forward nearly forty years, and here I am, still keeping up the Halloween ritual. Today, pumpkins are plentiful, and I go out of my way each year to get just the right two. Some years I even grow them myself, but I usually end up scouting a local shop or pumpkin patch for just the right pair. Each Halloween, my part is to hollow them out carefully, while Lindsey brings them to life with her carving skills, adding those frightful faces that we hope still ward off whatever might be lurking in the shadows.

One year, about 20 years ago, I was away working and didn’t expect to be home for Halloween. But I managed to get back a bit earlier than planned. As I approached the house, two familiar jack-o’-lanterns glowed in the dark, flickering as if they’d been waiting for me. Lindsey had kept up the tradition, knowing how much it meant, and it was a simple but unforgettable moment that reminded me why these little customs are worth holding onto.

This year, on the night of October 30th, I thought I was all set. I’d bought the pumpkins early, choosing two that seemed perfect. They’d been safely stored in the back of the car, waiting for their transformation into guardians of the doorstep. But as I went to take them out, my heart sank—they were a soggy mess, leaking pumpkin juice all over the back of my “bee-mobile.” Disheartened but determined, I considered scouring the countryside for replacements. But Lindsey, ever practical (and with perhaps a touch of witchy wisdom herself), insisted I stay put. “Don’t go out in the dark!” she warned.

Halloween morning arrived, and the search began. I thought surely Pocklington Sainsbury’s would have some, but after a fruitless search, I moved on to Aldi—again, no pumpkins. Next stop was the Coop, then Browns the Grocers. Still nothing! It was turning into a real Halloween scavenger hunt. With optimism waning, I set out for Tescos in Market Weighton—surely they’d have some. But, no luck. Determined not to give up, I headed for Langlands Garden Centre. And yet, not a pumpkin in sight there, either.

Just as I was starting to think the tradition might be doomed, I remembered a nearby “Pick Your Own” (PYO) pumpkin farm. With renewed hope, I drove over, imagining rows of pumpkins just waiting for a home. But as I neared the entrance, I saw the sign on the gate—CLOSED. Still, something nudged me to check further. The padlock was open, and as I peered in, I saw a trailer and pickup truck in the distance. A man climbed out of the truck, and as I got closer, I recognized him from my days at the allotments years ago.

I approached, and we had a good chat. I learned that he’d owned the PYO farm for years. I told him about my pumpkin predicament and how the ones in my “bee-mobile” had rotted. He nodded knowingly and said, “It’s been a terrible year for pumpkins with all the rain. They’ve been rotting early everywhere. That’s why all the supermarkets had them out so early—suppliers just dumped them on them. Tesco’s has had loads of complaints with people returning rotten pumpkins!”

I told him about my search, and he said he’d just delivered the last trailer load to a local nursery. Everything left in the field was likely rotten, too. But then he smiled and said, “Help yourself for free. If you can find any good ones, they’re yours.” I thanked him, told him I’d be back next year, and set off through the field with renewed determination.

With a bit of luck (and perhaps a touch of magic), I found two pumpkins that were just good enough to carve. As I left, I couldn’t help but feel grateful—and maybe even a bit triumphant. This year’s search had turned out to be a true Halloween tale. So, never give up, and never surrender! Come Halloween night, those two faces would be glowing on our doorstep, keeping the family tradition alive.

And somewhere, my mother is likely cackling in approval.