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Growing up in East Montpelier, I was always excited for the fall season. I love pumpkins more than anything else about fall. Sure, I love to watch the leaves turn, to taste the crispy red apples, which grow right in my yard, to feel cool afternoon breezes, and to see low golden light. But pumpkins are so round and cheerful, and delicious when baked in the oven to a soft state, pureed, then blended with eggs, cream, brown sugar, cinnamon, ginger, and baked for at least 45 minutes. I also like carving pumpkins with evil triangular eyes and sharp teeth with a candle inside as the night comes on earlier and earlier. Every fall we would go as a family to the Morse Farm Stand on the County Road. There, to my amazement, would be a giant cornucopia filled with pumpkins! My sister and I would then be allowed to pick out a pumpkin of our very own. It always took me forever to choose. Then, when we went inside, Dot Morse would ring up our order. Dot was Burr and Elliot Morse’s mother, and my sister’s first-grade school teacher at East Montpelier Elementary. We would all talk, laugh, and visit for a while before returning home to rake the leaves. A couple of weeks ago, I again went to Morse Farm and picked out two perfect pumpkins for my front yard. It wasn’t the same without Dot, and there were far more tourists than when I was young, but I am still delighted to put those lovely round gourds in front of my house to bask in the golden sunshine. It also seems like this time of year, inspired by the hues around us, one of us would recite or read the following poem: Nothing Gold Can StayBy Robert Frost Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.