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Re: Pumpkin history/lore Jack-o-Lantern

In support the Voltz Familiy
http://business.auracom.com/neat_things/jack.html

Many of us associate a scary face carved in the shell of a pumpkin with
Halloween. In biblical times it was the "All Hallows' Eve", or All Souls
Day, a time when the souls of the departed ascended to Heaven. The term
"Jack O'Lanterns" has little to do with Halloween, pumpkins or spirits
leaving their graves but is none-the-less mysterious. 

Newfoundland, the newest province of Canada, is a beautiful rugged,
rocky, scarcely populated island off the east coast of the country.
Today it's towns and cities are as modern as any, however if we go back
40 years and more, most of the inhabitants lived in small towns and
fishing villages around its coast line. Few villages were connected by
road, most transportation was by boat. While abundant with beauty and
natural resources, it lacked convenience. There were few automobiles, no
electric power, telephones, running water or indoor plumbing, the
household water supply came from hand dug wells, or more often, natural
springs. It's people were a hard working, God fearing, fun loving folk
whom lived off the land and ocean and were entirely self sustaining. 

My wife, of nearly 30 years, was born and raised in Marystown, on the
Burin Peninsula. Her father was a fisherman on a "jack boat", a wooden
schooner, that would sail for great distances in search of bountiful
fishing grounds. He would be away at sea for weeks at a time leaving her
mother, an older sister and herself to tend to the household chores.
Being the youngest, it was often her duty to fetch the water each night
from the "brook", several hundred feet from the security of her home.
For fear of fire during the night, the water buckets were never left
less than full. That was one parental rule that you did not tamper with. 

The path to the brook, etched onto the landscape of tall grass and
blueberry bushes, avoided such obstacles as large rocks and the
occasional dwarfed and crooked spruce tree. The meadow often lacked
illumination from the moon due to the large hills to the east and the
overcast conditions that would so often blanket the island. Much water
had to be carried daily, for cooking bathing, cleaning and laundry.
Navigating the path in the dark became instinctive. 

The kitchen of their small bungalow style home was typical for houses of
the day. It housed a rather large wood burning stove complete with a
fifteen gallon water tank and an oven. This range was not only used for
cooking and backing, but was the only source of heat for the house. The
kitchen, because of being the center of activity, had the greatest
amount of sitting space, with six chairs at the dining table and a day
bed capable of seating another four. 

Visitation was the main recreation for children and adults alike. A
typical evening would see at least a couple of neighbors drop in for a
friendly game of cards, a cup of tea and the re-canting of the days most
notable events. Saturday night was different, several neighbors, friends
and relatives would be present at the same time discussing a random
variety of subjects. Without fail, as the evening progressed discussion
would give way to story telling. Each adult in turn would tell of an
unusual occurrence of which they had intimate knowledge. The soft glow
from a single kerosene lamp would create eerie highlights on the face of
the storyteller. Often these tails,
enhanced just a little, would send cold shivers down the spines of the
youngsters whom were advised to be seen and not heard. Whether the
stories were of the shipwreck just down the coast and the plight of the
crew or the bodiless footsteps that followed someone home that stormy
night, the children would carefully digest each word so as to get an
accurate picture of the event. 

There were no shortage of opportunities for a young person to be out
alone at night, returning from the house of a friend, collecting
firewood, fetching water or "running" an errand. Regardless of the
occasion, it was usually times like these when the recollection of such
events would surface to reek havoc with an otherwise rational mind. 

One Sunday nite, far too few hours from a particularly intriguing
session in their kitchen, my young wife-to-be set out for the brook with
the empty buckets in hand. She would intentionally allow the buckets to
touch together or brush the tall grass at the side of the path in rhythm
with her foot steps. The subtle sounds would break the stillness of the
night and occupy her consciousness, hopefully leaving little room for
unwanted thoughts to reside. This was an especially memorable trek, it
would be the first of many encounters that to this day remain
unexplained. 

She straddled part of the pool, with one foot firmly planted at the end
of the path and the other on a rock located near the center of the pool
to provide stability when swinging the heavy bucket from the spring.
While waiting for the bucket to fill, she somehow felt compelled to look
behind her. in the direction of the harbor. Her attention was drawn to a
tiny yellowish light off in the distance which seemed hover over the
water. She quickly discounted this as being a boat returning to port. 

With both buckets now full, she began the arduous walk back to the
house. Because of the weight she carried, it was natural to walk with
her head down and her eyes fixed on the path in front of her. After
going the first hundred feet or so, the strain on her arms became
unbearable. She set the buckets down, being careful not to spill any of
the water she worked so hard to collect. As she was straightening up for
a well deserved rest, her attention was again drawn to the yellow light
in the direction of harbor now off to her right. She was shocked to
realize it was not the light of a boat
she had seen, but a ball of fire, growing larger as it traveled toward
her. She just stood there, frozen with fear, unable to comprehend what
was happening. Stricken with panic, she tried to run toward the house. A
sickening feeling overcame her, her legs ached as she forced one foot
ahead of the other. 

The fireball was now within a couple of hundred feet of her and closing
fast. Appearing to have an inelegance of a sort, it would remain
adjacent to her as it continued to come closer, as if trying to decide
whether to move in front to block her escape, thankfully it did not. It
seemed to be only a few feet from her as she reached the kitchen door.
Once safely inside, gasping for air, she pressed her small trembling
body against the firmly closed door. 

These nightly errands would often be interrupted by the ball of fire
coming from the distant meadow or up from the harbor. On several
occasions while looking out the window, the apparition would zoom to
just few feet from the from the glass. She was not the only one to
encounter this phenomenon, her mother, sister, neighbors and other
towns-folk recall many similar instances. Fishermen often told of a fire
ball situated just off the stern of their boat, following them into
port. Helpless to do anything else, they would pray that they would not
be harmed. As far as I know, they never were. Never-the-less, such hair
raising experiences would make a person quite apprehensive about being
out alone at night. 

The fireball was known locally as a "Jack O'Lanterns". I've read various
explanations of the jack O'Lanterns, sometimes called "Will'O Th'Wisp".
Usually it is associated with pyrophoric marsh gasses. However, in this
case, there are no marshes on this meadow. Even more mysterious, is why
it was often seen hovering or drifting over the salty ocean water. 

For reasons unknown, be it air pollution or other changes in our
atmosphere, these sightings, as mysteriously as they've begun, seemed to
have ceased! 

J.F.B. 
-- 
Duncan McAlpine, Federal Way, WA   m*@eskimo.com
Why buy plants when you can grow them yourself.....?
http://www.eskimo.com/~mcalpin/
http://www.eskimo.com/~mcalpin/pumkin.html
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