If winter is the skeleton of time, then fall is the putrefying shell. The seasonal cycle of birth, aging, death, undeath, and re-animation haunts existence. How many times must I watch humanity ride this frisky corpse of a world?
But don’t get me wrong, I love fall!
And who doesn’t? Pumpkins. Squashes. Gourds. Corn, which is not related botanically to the others but sounds like it belongs. The time of the Cucurbitaceae!
I’ll admit that I could do without the reduced daylight and accompanying serotonin issues. And I’m not really sold on “sweater weather.” That’s just the cold priming you for “I’m-ready-to-burn-my-entire-home-down-for-warmth weather.”
Let’s get back to the gourds, though. You may see this multi-talented group of edible and non-edible plants as the centerpiece of your Thanksgiving feast, or as a humorous and grotesquely distorted effigy of a human face, or as a bird house, which birds seem to be fine with. Historically, gourds have been used as water carriers, beer carriers, wine carriers, bird carriers (technically), ladles, spoons, scoops, strainers, maracas, pies, coffee, puree (if that strikes your fancy), and probably some righteous weapons that also look attractive as a festive, seasonal display.
Gourds are so versatile, in fact, that I keep my life savings encased in their sturdy husks. And my series of complex and cunning traps that protect this horde is likewise constructed entirely of these noble pods, so don’t think that you are getting your mitts on my Bitcoin. It’s why “horde” and “gourd” come from the same linguistic root (look it up).
You can have your crisp weather. You can have your forebodings of seasonal depression. You can have your drowsy bears and jaundiced foliage. You can’t have my personal gourds, of course, but you can have some gourds.
Say it with me.
Gourd.
Gouuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrd.
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