The unthinkable has happened: The Great Pumpkin never came.
Now, Jamie knows exactly how poor Linus felt in It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.
There will be no pumpkin parties.
There will be no weigh-offs.
And I am officially calling off Halloween altogether because what’s the point?
Sniff.
And this is after the tornado that hit our house.
Read the sad details here and be sure to leave my dear, sweet Linus your condolences.
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Allow me to dispel a rumor: I did not cause the horrible storm that ravaged Denver last week.
A few so-called friends have accused me of praying it here so as to wipe out my husband’s pumpkin growing season. For those not in the know, I have been christened “The Pumpkin Widow” because I am married to a man who is obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin.
Or rather, a man who was obsessed because after Monday’s storm, I am sad to say that The Great Pumpkin is no more.
In my defense, my children and I were 65 miles away sunning ourselves on the deck at Devil’s Thumb Ranch.
Oh wait. The storm occurred at night. I think I just blew my alibi.
When I awoke the morning after, I was greeted with a series of increasingly despondent emails from my husband Jamie who had remained behind for work.
First, a picture of golf-ball-sized hail. Then another of our yard showing the accumulation. The final was the heart-breaker: his completely obliterated pumpkin patch. Hundreds of hours of soil-testing, fertilizer-obsessing that he lovingly documented on his pumpkin blog–gone in just a matter of minutes.
Our home was near the epicenter of the action and our entire yard was destroyed as well. Fortunately, our house was spared from major damage but many of our neighbors were not so lucky. My heart goes out to those who are still dealing with the aftermath.
Calm before the storm
Earlier that day, I had received a jubilant email from him stating that his pumpkin’s circumference was already 30 inches around, just two weeks after pollination. The Great Pumpkin was on the cusp of gaining 30-40 pounds per day and was on track to top 1,000 pounds (200 pounds more than his previous season).
Rest assured, The Great Pumpkin lived and died with greatness. And thus it was: The birth of a storm, the death of a dream.
With a moving obituary like that, you can’t say I wasn’t supportive.
Note: In lieu of flowers, please send pumpkin seeds. 
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 