Pumpkins, Apples, Turnips
On bringing back the agrarian roots of Halloween
I love Halloween, but I dread it for one reason: trick-or-treating. Nothing sends a bone-chilling tingle down my spine like the crinkly sound of the inevitable bag of candy held by my kids’ costumed hands, the saccharine sweet smell oozing through all of those little plastic wrappers. (By now, through these newsletters, it is likely very evident how I feel about white sugar and plastic!). That said, with trick-or-treating set aside, Halloween and its agricultural roots have always been a source of comfort for me, as a farmer, an eater, and a human who will eventually decay into a decomposing skeleton (hopefully in an eco-friendly green burial site).
The origins of Halloween are ingrained in the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, which celebrated the end of summer and beginning of winter. Samhain’s roots are entrenched in the idea of the veil between the living and the dead being thin during this time—specifically, between October 31st to November 2nd. During All Hallow’s Eve (October 31st), the dead could wander around, as well as demons, fairies and other creatures, and costumes of animals skins were used by people to ward them off or blend in to remain unharmed.
But for Samhain, death did not just pertain to humans and animals—it also recognized the death of the plant world. Crops that had been bountiful in the summer months were now withered and spindly and brown, and the knowledge of food scarcity was a big part of life during those times. A far cry from Whole Foods being down the block, people had to not just deal with the dead roaming the earth, but were also faced with their own ability to survive to cold, snow-coated months without being able to harvest anything from the ground. It was also a time where farmers usually butchered all of their remaining animals, both to get through the winter by eating the meat, and also out of necessity, since it was much harder to keep them fed with their dwindling supply of grain through the winter. The tradition of going to door-to-door asking for candy actually originated from the lower-class going door to door begging for food from the rich, both for food for themselves and as gifts to the spirit world. Not only were people just trying to survive, but Samhain was also a reminder that everything must die, eventually, and nothing lasts forever. Today, we still see threads of these ideas remaining, as people fumble through farmer-grown corn mazes, pick out pumpkins from pumpkin patches, and go apple-picking. Buying dried corn decor to hang on your door might seem like a far cry from reflecting on one’s mortality, but it still stems from our collective memory of what it is to live and die here on earth while having a paucity of things to eat.
Even the jack-o-lantern legend is a tale of food; the Irish folktale tells of Jack, a brutish, cruel man who makes a deal with the devil to roam the earth with nothing but a turnip he was eating, hollowed out, and lit with a piece of coal to make a lantern. Later, the Irish would make these jack-o-lanterns to protect their homes, hollowed out and made into faces to scare demons away. Mostly they used root vegetables to carve out—turnips and beets—but when a massive Irish migration came to the states to escape the potato famine, they switched to a much easier end-of-summer plant to carve: the pumpkin.
Of course, the Celtic people were not the only ones to acknowledge this thin veil between the living and the dead, and have food be a part of it during this time of year; the Mexican tradition of El Dia de los Muertos, with elements of both spirituality and celebration, entwine both of these aspects with somber remembrance and exuberant folk artistry. People prepare for this holiday by making special foods: baking pan de muertos, a sweet bread only baked this time of year, or creating sparkly calaveras de azucar, or sugar skulls, which people generally eat after the celebration. People also make the favorite foods of their loved ones to honor them.
For much of our society, Halloween is an example of how agriculture has shaped our cultural landscapes, even if those roots have been largely severed. It is a reminder that farmland is important to preserve, to be able to generate food for generations to come, and to understand the health of the world depends on making sure we are able to grow food holistically and regeneratively, protecting the surrounding natural forests and prairies to be able to farm alongside a balanced ecosystem. It is a reminder that Halloween isn’t a fake holiday created by the Mars candy corporation, but one that stems from farming, which is all about life and death. Therefore, I would love to see an actual agrarian treat given out, such as apples and pears being dropped in bags.
Ahem (clears throat). Hear my case: apples and pears are traditionally beneficial for the lungs and healing to respiratory ailments. According to Ayurveda and Chinese Medicine, autumn is the time where the lungs are most vulnerable (it is suggested to make sure the chest and neck are covered with a scarf during this time to protect the lungs from invading wind) and need to be nourished—this is also a good time to start eating soups with ginger and garlic. Apples and pears nourish the Lung Yin, especially when poached or cooked (stewed applesauce, for example). It makes sense, therefore, to gift approaching kids—especially going into flu season—with something healing and healthful.
However, I understand that is an unpopular opinion. As someone who has never bought bags of Halloween candy to give out to trick-or-treaters—our family has always lived generally isolated and neighbor-less and we have to go drive somewhere else to go trick-or-treating—I have always thought of what alternatives I could give out if we did have people come by. When I was telling this idea to my kids, my oldest son, Huck, said that that isn’t what kids wanted. “It’s not a treat,” he said. “I mean, a treat is at least like a cookie or something.”
Which made sense, and now, reader, I will revise my proposal; a baked good, made with local grains that have just been milled and fair-trade chocolate, and maybe even a more sustainable sugar. Perhaps apple muffins, with healthful, anti-viral cinnamon. It could be wrapped in eco-friendly parchment paper and tied in string. (Fine, or put in a reusable ziploc bag.) This harkens back to when the poor went door to door and would sometimes receive “soul cakes”, baked sweet treats that were given to these beggars in exchange for them saying a prayer for the giver’s departed loved ones.
The poisoned candy handed out to kill kids is a myth anyway, a fairy tale that is even too dark to be suited for Samhain; bring back something that won’t spike your blood sugar to epic proportions, doesn’t support terrible child labor practices, and helps you to remember the farms that feed you.
From the Kitchen:
Since Autumn is the season of the lungs (and taking care of our immune system which is more susceptible during these cold months!), I will be talking immune-boosting for paid subscribers this Thursday, with one of my favorite healing, anti-viral soup recipes.
What I’m Reading:
I guess I’m really into this subject, and this newsletter was partially inspired by a terrific book my very good friend Christina gave me called Awakened by Death by Christiana N. Peterson. Other than that, I am simultaneously reading two books about sourdough bread baking (OMG why am I having such a hard time making a really good sourdough pizza crust) and Bryant Terry’s wonderful book, Black Food. I also need more fiction in my life, since I barely read it anymore (it’s sad), but I am re-reading a wonderfully spooky novel, Unseen City, which happens to be written by one of my best friends. She is such a good writer, it is perfect for Halloween, and I highly recommend it, so read it!