enVoyage - page 28

rowing up, our house
wa s k n own a s t h e
pumpkin house. Every
October 31, my dad
would lug the three or
four pumpkins we’d carved outside and
place them, in a friendly line, on our front
stoop. He’d let me and my little sister
place a short, thick candle into the bottom
of the hollowed-out fruit, and with a
swoop of a match, we’d watch as our
pumpkins lit up into a family of jack-o-
lanterns, their eyes perfectly-shaped holes
and their mouths toothless and glowing.
For the rest of the night, kids from all over
the neighborhood would swarm to our
front steps to admire my dad’s handiwork
— the way he’d finessed those fruits into
characters with a few tiny saws and knives.
As time went on, dad tried to outdo
himself every year, upping the stakes by
studying the winners of national
pumpkin-carving competitions and
attempting to copy their styles and
designs. One year, he made a Star Wars-
G
Why Do
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εߕ਷࢕ࢬٙ΍ΝΫኳdίڭव̚ϼෂႭٙΝࣛdɰᔟ͟ʔΝிۨٙی͘ᎉՍdዧ೯஢εʔΝ
ٙ௴จf
We Carve
BY KRISTIN WINET
ILLUSTRATIONS BY I YING YEH
26 enVoyage
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