We arrived in Philly too late last year to witness pumpkin mania. The city, and probably the country's entire north-east corner, goes pumpkin mad. There are pumpkins on most doorsteps and, sensible bunch that our newfound compatriots are, people don't do the kinds of things to each others' pumpkins that Australians would if using them for ornamental purposes was a true blue, dinky di tradition the way ornamental gnomes and those swans made from car tires are. No, Americans leave each others' pumpkins well alone until the snow starts to fall and then they bring them inside and make pumpkin bread for each other. Maybe the prospect of receiving baskets of pumpkin bread (Elliott enjoyed this slice at the farmers' market on Sunday) from the neighbours is why nobody, say, carves the Dallas Cowboys logo on a rabid Philadelphia Eagles supporter's pumpkin, nor steals a pumpkin to take on vacation so as to send the owner photos of their pumpkin at Disneyland and Niagara Falls, nor appropriates a pumpkin as weaponry when neighbourly relations sour. Or maybe it's because Americans aren't the coarse and larcenous lot that we Australians are.
No comments:
Post a Comment