I Named My Favorite Pumpkin After a Saint

By Anesa K. Chastain Jones, General Manager/Graphics Director

Every October, I carve pumpkins. It’s my Halloween tradition, no skipping, no excuses. Doesn’t matter how busy life gets or what chaos is going on at some point, I’m sitting down with a knife, a scoop, and a pumpkin that has no idea what’s coming.

The smell, the mess, the feel of it all, it’s oddly therapeutic. The table’s covered in newspaper like a crime scene, pumpkin guts everywhere, and everyone’s got a “plan” until the carving starts to lean or the top won’t fit back on. But that’s the fun of it. You never really know what you’re going to end up with.

I’ve carved plenty over the years, some great, some that looked like they’d been through a storm but my all-time favorite was one I named St. Benedict. It had a raven perched on a gravestone, with the candlelight flickering through the cuts just right so it looked alive. There was something about it, haunting but peaceful, like it meant something beyond Halloween night. It wasn’t just a pumpkin. It had a presence.

That’s what I love about carving. It’s not about perfect lines or who’s got the best design on the block. It’s about slowing down, getting messy, and making something that’s yours. It’s about the glow on the porch when the night hits just right, the laughter in the background, and that little bit of magic that sneaks in when you least expect it.

Pumpkin carving isn’t an art form. It’s a memory, one you can hold in your hands, light up, and watch come to life.

So grab a scoop, light that candle, and carve something even if it ends up a little crooked. Because the best pumpkins aren’t perfect. The best ones tell a story.