Karen's Pumpkin Patch Page 2

  Then Hannie pulled me into a corner of the classroom. “Karen,” she whispered, “I have an idea. Could I pick out my pumpkin ahead of time? The one I will carve for the contest? Then I could visit the patch and watch my pumpkin grow. That would be so, so special.”

  “Sure!” I replied. “Whenever you want.”

  “Okay,” replied Hannie. “Thanks!”

  All that day, I thought about my pumpkin patch. And about Kong, my great, big, beautiful pumpkin.

  Mischief Night

  “Milk,” I said to David Michael. I handed him the carton.

  “Milk,” he repeated. He put the milk in the refrigerator.

  “Kleenex,” I said.

  “Kleenex.” David Michael set it on the kitchen counter.

  “Cat food.”

  “Cat food.”

  “Toilet paper.”

  “Toilet — hey!” David Michael lowered his voice. “Does this remind you of anything?” he whispered to me.

  “The toilet paper? No,” I replied.

  “Okay. I will tell you later.”

  I was at the big house one day after school. Elizabeth had just come home from work with five bags of groceries. She gave David Michael and me the job of putting them away.

  “Tell me now,” I begged.

  “Shh! No. Later,” replied my brother.

  As soon as we were finished with the groceries, I pulled David Michael into the den. “Now tell me,” I said.

  “Mischief Night.” David Michael grinned at me. “Get it?”

  I grinned back. “Oh, yeah. Mischief Night … toilet paper …”

  “Soap and shaving cream,” added David Michael. “We better start stocking up on things. We want to be prepared.”

  I do not know if the kids in your town do anything special on the night before Halloween. But in Stoneybrook we do. We call that night Mischief Night. It is the time when kids run around after dark and make mischief. They decorate people’s trees and bushes with toilet paper. They scribble on their windows or their cars with soap. They spray a little shaving cream around. Mischief-makers have to be very careful, because they do not want anyone to catch them. If people saw them making mischief, they might not give them candy on Halloween.

  I had never been out on Mischief Night myself.

  “Do you think we are old enough to go out this year?” I asked.

  “Sure,” said David Michael. “I bet our friends will be going out. I bet Hannie and Linny and Bill and Melody will be going out.” (Linny is Hannie’s older brother. Bill and Melody Korman live two houses away from Hannie. Melody is my friend and Bill is David Michael’s.)

  “Really?” I said.

  “Let’s call them and find out.”

  So David Michael phoned them and they were going to make mischief.

  “Come on. Now let’s tell my mom and your dad,” said David Michael.

  Elizabeth and Daddy did not like the idea one bit.

  “I am sorry. You may not go out on Mischief Night,” said Daddy.

  “Absolutely not,” agreed Elizabeth.

  “Boo,” I replied. But I knew better than to argue.

  * * *

  The next day, David Michael and I talked about Mischief Night again. We remembered to whisper in case any adults were around.

  “I am still going to save toilet paper,” announced my brother.

  “What’s the point?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “You never know. Anyway, maybe we cannot make mischief on Mischief Night, but I bet our parents will let us protect our yard. Other kids will be out. We have to defend ourselves. Boy, I hope the big kids do not do anything too awful. You know what? I think they have already been smashing pumpkins.”

  Smashing pumpkins? Uh-oh.

  King Kong’s Cage

  “Are you sure that pumpkins are already being smashed?” I asked David Michael. I had to be certain about this. It was important.

  “Well, I saw one smashed pumpkin,” he replied.

  “Where do you think it came from?”

  “Someone’s front porch, I guess. It had not been scooped out and carved. There were seeds all over the street.”

  Oh. Off of someone’s front porch. A pumpkin sitting right out where everyone could see it. That was a mistake. Kong was safe, though, I decided. You could not see the pumpkin patch from the street. Hardly anyone even knew I had a pumpkin patch. Except for the people in my two families. And except for Hannie and Nancy. And except for everybody else in Ms. Colman’s class.

  I wondered if I should cut Kong from his vine and keep him in Daddy’s house until Halloween. But if I did that, he would stop growing. He might win a prize for the most beautiful pumpkin. But he probably would not win the blue ribbon for biggest pumpkin in Stoneybrook. And I would never know if he could have grown to sixty-five pounds … or maybe even bigger. I had looked up pumpkins in the Guinness Book of World Records. Guess how much the world’s largest pumpkin weighed. Six-hundred-and-seventy-one pounds. How would I know if Kong could be a record-breaking pumpkin if I cut him from his vine now? I wouldn’t. So I would have to leave Kong in the patch. That was that.

  In fact, I planned to leave him on the vine right up until my big-house family piled into our van on Halloween to ride down-town for the contests and the parade and the party. I wanted to give him the best chance I could.

  But maybe I should protect Kong, I thought. Just in case some mean person finds out about him. It was up to me to make his patch safe.

  “Charlie?” I said. “Could you please help me with something?”

  “Sure,” he answered. “What is it?”

  “I need a cage for King Kong.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want to put a fence around the pumpkin patch.”

  “Oh,” said Charlie. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Can we do it now?”

  “We can if that roll of chicken wire is still in the garage. We will need chicken wire and some wooden stakes and some nails and a hammer.”

  Charlie and I looked in the garage and the toolshed. We found everything. “Let’s get to work!” I said.

  Guess what. Building a fence is not easy, even a little one. Charlie and I worked for two whole hours. This is what we had to do. First we pounded the stakes into the ground. We pounded in twelve of them. We put them around the edge of the patch. Then we unrolled the chicken wire. We nailed it to each stake. When we were finished, the patch was fenced in.

  Charlie stepped back to look at our work. “Hmm,” he said. “Something is wrong.” He rubbed his chin with his hand.

  While Charlie stood there thinking, Boo-Boo crept across the yard toward the pumpkin patch. Then he began to run. He leaped over the fence and landed almost on top of Kong.

  “Boo-Boo!” I shrieked.

  And Charlie said, “I know what is wrong! No door!”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I replied grumpily. “Anyone could climb right over this fence. It cannot even keep a cat out.”

  “Thanks a lot,” said Charlie. He walked away, muttering.

  Kong was not safe at all. I would have to think of something else.

  A Home for Every Pumpkin

  Charlie did not come back to the patch. I think he was cross with me. Well, I could not help it. The chicken-wire fence was no good at all.

  I stepped over the fence. I sat on the ground next to Kong. I patted his stem. “Do not worry,” I said. “I will save you, Kong. I will think of something. The pumpkin-smashers will not get you. You can grow to eight hundred pounds, if you want.”

  “Hey, Karen, what is this?”

  Hannie was standing at the edge of the pumpkin patch. Her hand was resting on a fence post.

  “It is King Kong’s cage,” I told her, “Only it does not work. It does not even keep Boo-Boo out. I need to protect Kong from pumpkin-smashers.”

  “I will help you think of something,” said Hannie. She stepped into the patch and sat down next to Kong and me.

  Han
nie and I put our chins in our hands. We thought and thought. After awhile, Hannie said, “Karen? What happens to pumpkins if you never cut them off the vine? Do they grow forever?”

  “No. I don’t think so. The cold weather would kill them. They would rot during the winter.”

  Hannie looked alarmed. “Yipes!” she exclaimed. “Karen, you better find a home for every one of these pumpkins! You do not want them to rot, do you? That would be very sad.”

  “You’re right!” I said. “I cannot leave these pumpkins here to die.” I looked around the patch. “But, Hannie, there are so many pumpkins. I will have to find lots and lots of homes. That will be a big job.”

  “Well, you could start by giving a pumpkin to each person in your two families,” replied Hannie.

  “And you should choose your pumpkin for the contest,” I added.

  “Okay.” Hannie stood up. She walked around the sides of the patch. Then she walked through the patch. She was careful not to step on any pumpkins. (But I sat with my arms around Kong, just in case.)

  After a long, long time, Hannie said, “I choose this pumpkin.” She was standing beside a perfectly round one.

  “Okay, do not move,” I told her. “I will be right back.” I ran into the big house. I found paper and scissors and string and a marker. When I returned to the patch I made a tag. I wrote HANNIE on it with the marker. I tied it to the stem of the pumpkin.

  “Thank you,” said Hannie.

  “You’re welcome. Now I will choose pumpkins for my families.” I made tags that read: MOMMY, DADDY, SETH, ELIZ., ANDREW, D.M., E.M., KRISTY, SAM, CHARLIE, and NANNIE. I walked around the patch like Hannie had done. I tied each tag to one pumpkin. “There,” I said when I was finished.

  “Now twelve more pumpkins have homes,” said Hannie.

  But dozens and dozens of pumpkins still had no homes. Uh-oh.

  “The kids in our class are going to buy pumpkins,” Hannie reminded me.

  “That will help a little,” I said.

  I tagged pumpkins for Rocky, Midgie, Emily Junior, Boo-Boo, Shannon, Gold-fishie, and Crystal Light the Second. That helped a little more. But not nearly enough.

  Now I had two pumpkin problems. I had to find a way to protect Kong, and I had to find homes for all the rest of those poor, stray pumpkins.

  “At least you will have a good home,” I told Kong. I gave him a hug.

  “And so will Martha,” said Hannie. “Kong, this is my pumpkin, Martha. I hope you two will be friends.”

  Hannie and I sat in the pumpkin patch with Kong and Martha for a long time that afternoon.

  Pumpkins for Sale

  One day Hannie had a gigundoly good idea. “Karen,” she said, “I know how you can find homes for all those stray pumpkins.”

  “You do? How?” I asked.

  “Have a pumpkin sale. You are going to sell pumpkins to the kids in our class anyway. Why don’t you sell them to other people, too?”

  “Oh, Hannie! That is awesome! A pumpkin sale. Now let me think….”

  * * *

  This is what I decided.

  I could sell my pumpkins after school and on weekends. That meant I would have to spend extra time at the big house, though. And that meant I would have to check out my plans with Mommy and Daddy and Seth and Elizabeth.

  “Mommy,” I said, “Seth. Those poor pumpkins need good homes. I just cannot let them rot in the patch.” I said the same thing to Daddy and Elizabeth. My two mommies and two daddies agreed that I could sell pumpkins at the big house.

  Next I decided to sell my pumpkins right out of the patch. “Won’t that be fun?” I said to Hannie. “People can come into the patch and walk around and see the pumpkins growing on the vines. That is much more interesting than looking at rows and rows of pumpkins at some boring old stand. People can do that anywhere.”

  Then I decided that my friends in Ms. Colman’s room should have the first pick of the pumpkins. After all, I had told them a long time ago that they could buy their Halloween pumpkins from me. I would hold a private sale for my friends. They could come to the patch the day before I let anyone else come. They would be my special customers.

  Finally I realized that I would have to advertise my sale. How would anyone ever know that they could go to a pumpkin patch in my backyard? So I made a big sign. It said:

  I could put the sign up in front of the big house whenever I was there selling pumpkins. Maybe David Michael would help me. Maybe he would stand next to the sign and shout, “This way! This way to the pumpkins!” And then hundreds of people would go to my sale and adopt all the stray pumpkins.

  I was doing a very good deed.

  Hiding King Kong

  Guess what. After all my great ideas, I had a horrible one. After my parents said I could have the pumpkin sale, and after I decided to hold the sale right in the patch, and after I made my sign, and after David Michael agreed to help me, I thought: Uh-oh. All those pumpkin-buyers will see King Kong. They will know where he is. Kong will be in more danger than ever.

  One afternoon when I had finished watering the patch, I sat down next to Kong. (I sat on the watering can so I would not get muddy.)

  “Kong,” I said, “I do not want you to worry. Soon a lot of people will be walking around the patch. But they will not pay any attention to you. I am going to put something else here, something they will pay attention to instead. Then I am going to disguise you. So never fear, Kong dear.”

  What I put in the patch was a scarecrow.

  I never knew how hard making a scarecrow would be. I wanted my scarecrow to look just like the one in The Wizard of Oz. But we did not have any straw.

  “Daddy, can we please go to a farm and get some?” I asked.

  “Honey, you do not have to stuff your scarecrow with straw,” he replied.

  “I do if I want it to look like Dorothy’s friend.”

  Daddy sighed. “How about stuffing him with rags?”

  “No. Straw.”

  “I am not driving you to a farm, Karen.”

  “Maybe Granny and Grandad could mail me some straw.” (Granny and Grandad are my grandparents who live on the farm in the state of Nebraska.)

  “Karen.”

  “Okay, okay, okay. I will use rags.”

  In our garage I found an old shirt that Daddy wears when he is painting. Then I found a pair of snow pants that Emily had outgrown.

  “Good start,” I said. “Pants and a shirt for the scarecrow.”

  I made my scarecrow’s head out of a balloon. Kristy lent me one of her baseball caps to put on top of the balloon. Then I stuffed the shirt and pants with rags, and glued the balloon to the neck of the shirt.

  When the scarecrow was finished, I set him up in the garden. I called David Michael to come take a look at him.

  “Hmm,” said David Michael. “I hope he really does keep crows away.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because if a crow lands on your scarecrow, his balloon head will explode.”

  “Very funny.”

  David Michael left the garden. I turned to Kong. “Now for your disguise,” I said. “I have planned it well. Just hold still, please.”

  I placed a cardboard box over my pumpkin. Then I used a package of markers to color two doors and six windows. I cut a hole in the top of the box so Kong’s stem could poke through. “Perfect,” I said. “Your stem is the chimney. You look just like a house, Kong. No one will know you are here.”

  But later I showed Kong’s disguise to Hannie. Guess what Hannie said. She said, “Won’t people wonder why a house is sitting in your pumpkin patch?”

  Uh-oh. Hannie was right.

  I thought for a moment. “If anyone asks, I will tell them that it is a home for my pet garden snake. Then no one will even go near the box.”

  “Good idea,” said Hannie. She walked around Kong. She peered down at her own pumpkin. “How are you doing, Martha?” she asked. “You look nice and fat and healthy. Karen is taking good care of you
.” She paused. “Hey, Karen, you should name the scarecrow,” she added.

  “I already have. His name is Irv.”

  The Great Pumpkin

  One morning I woke up at the big house. Autumn was in the air. My window was open, and my room felt chilly. I breathed in. I could smell damp leaves and chimney smoke. Someone had built a fire.

  I climbed out of bed and crept to the window. I looked outside. I hoped I could see smoke coming from the chimney. Then I would know who was lucky enough to have a fire in their fireplace.

  But I did not see smoke curling into the air. Instead I saw something orange and horrible in the street. It was … a smashed pumpkin.

  “Yikes!” I cried. “Kong!”

  I did not even bother to change out of my nightgown. I threw a sweat shirt on over it. I scrambled into a pair of boots. Then I ran all the way downstairs and outside. The air was freezing and the ground was stiff with frost, but I kept running. I did not stop until I was in the pumpkin patch, standing by Kong’s house. I saw his stem poking through the chimney hole. Then I knew he was safe.

  “That was scary, Kong,” I told him. “I guess your house is a good disguise, though.” I lifted up the house and set it aside. Kong needed sunshine during the day. I would put the house back at nighttime.

  After breakfast, David Michael and Andrew and Emily and I looked at the smashed pumpkin in the street. Seeds were everywhere.

  “Poor, poor pumpkin,” I said.

  “Pumpkin,” repeated Emily.

  “Pumpkin-smashers are meanie-mos,” said Andrew.

  “Meanie-mos,” repeated Emily.

  “This is a tragedy,” said David Michael.

  (Emily Michelle could not say tragedy.)

  I spent a lot of the day in the pumpkin patch with Kong and Irv and Martha. The longer I stayed there, the warmer the day became. It felt like spring. But I knew it was Indian summer.

  “Daddy?” I said sometime during the afternoon. “May I sleep in the pumpkin patch with Kong tonight? I have to protect him.”