The Pumpkin Was Decorative, Until It Was Food

At some point in October, the line between decoration and participation quietly disappears. The pumpkins are set out with good intentions. The mums are watered. The porch gets a brief moment of looking like it understands the assignment. And then—without ceremony—someone small and furry decides the display is open for business like an impromptu visit from a food truck,

The pumpkin on the porch wasn’t carved for serving dinner to the local residents, it was meant to be a seasonal decoration. A nod to the season. Something pretty and orange to sit beside a pot of mums and signal that yes, we noticed it’s October. But October in the Berkshires has a way of turning still life into live action.

That’s the thing about living here long enough—you stop pretending the outdoors is just scenery. In October especially, the land is actively rearranging itself. Animals are preparing their Winter stashes and lining their dens. Plants are transitioning from flowers to seed pantries providing a vital food source for the wildlife. What looks decorative to us is often functional to something else.

The porch becomes a shared edge. Not quite inside, not quite out. A pumpkin becomes calories. A railing becomes a lookout. The yard shifts from being something you curate to something you witness. This isn’t wildlife “getting into” things—it’s wildlife doing exactly what it has always done, while we finally slow down enough to notice.