The leaves have been blazing for weeks up here in the North Country, and as they begin to fall softly to the ground with each passing breeze, another shade of orange has begun to emerge. In your transit to and from campus over fall break, you may have noticed the plethora of pumpkin stands beginning to pop up on Route 11.

Pumpkins of all sorts abound – the gnarled and warty gourds that many find uniquely beautiful, the round and smooth pumpkins us Americans love to carve, and smaller but vital fruits used for making pie. Fall is quickly upon us here in our northern woods, and the pumpkins brief October roadside appearance is another warning of the cold weather to come.

Most Americans have some association with pumpkins, and I am no exception. When I was a kid, pumpkins meant hours on my newspaper-covered kitchen floor with my brothers. We hacked at our pumpkins with those softly-serrated orange-handled pumpkin “knives” my mom gave us. I would carefully cut the top off my pumpkin, only to then remember that I, in fact, could not stand extracting the pulpy, slimy, and seed-studded “guts” that lay within.

Quite frankly, I still cannot stand the insides of pumpkins. I fail to remember this every year until I am sitting there, staring into the inner horrors of a giant orange fruit, realizing I have committed a grave error. As a child, while I sat frozen with fear in front of my brightly-colored nemesis, my brothers would throw pumpkin guts at me, which only compounded my fear of pumpkins. But eventually, I would convince someone to clean the inside of my pumpkin for me and proceed with the carving.

I was, and am, pretty darn terrible at carving. However, I always thought I was great at it, leading me to attempt fantastic feats that pushed the limits of what can be done with a pumpkin. Of course, that just meant I ended up with a mess that had the general appearance of an impressionistic painting made by a severely inebriated person.

My older brother, on the other hand, would craft fine works of art that I could never admit were as forward-thinking as my masterpieces. On a lucky year, while carving took place, my mother might roast seeds. I cannot say I have many memories of eating the seeds, let alone enjoying eating them, as they were usually burnt.

When I came to college, I left my suburban-Philadelphia home with terrible pumpkin carving skills and absolutely no idea what magical creations could be fashioned from the varied anatomy of a giant orange gourd. Once I arrived at St. Lawrence, my Halloween-time experiences were changed for good.

I love pumpkin spice lattes as much as the next guy, but the less soluble aspects of pumpkin creations are what I now yearn for every fall. With such an abundance of pumpkin producers in the North Country, it only makes sense to take advantage of every pumpkin-related opportunity available. While my mother may not have understood the bounty held within a pumpkin, the kind folk of St. Lawrence sure do.

Pumpkins are not just for carving and torturing siblings, but have a myriad of scrumptious uses. Seeds can be roasted spicy, sweet or savory. The meat of the pumpkin can be roasted, puréed, and turned into fall favorites like bread and pie. You can even use this purée as the base of a heart-warming soup to take the autumn chill out of the air. And yes, you can even make that perfect pumpkin spice latte.

Have yourself some pumpkin adventures this Halloween weekend, and head on down Route 11 to get some pumpkins and explore the delicious creations that these glorious fruits can produce.

Swing by the Green House (70 Park) Friday the 30th from 2pm-6pm for the third annual Pumpkin Palooza! Pie, bread, seeds, carving, and painting to occur. Just do not approach me with pumpkin innards.