Page 47 of Let’s Give ‘Em Pumpkin to Talk About
One year later
L athyrus Gallery, named after the Latin genus of the pea plant, was constructed from an old barn, moved beam by beam from deep in Blossom County to a plot of land accessible via the rail trail.
Though the outside looked rustic, with rust-red paint and the original wooden barn quilt over the doors, the inside was a beautifully contemporary art space.
The newest show was tonight, and it was Sadie’s.
It wasn’t Sadie’s alone. She had only made one of the pieces, but she’d conceptualized the whole show. Local weavers, experts and novices alike, had created everything else, following her detailed instructions.
People collected the weavable fibers they encountered in a year, whether a loose thread from a garment, a foraged plant, or a dead phone charging cable.
Using circular looms made by Esther, their textile journals spiraled out to document their lives.
The children’s librarian encountered a lot of pipe cleaners, apparently.
The farmer made yards of pale golden cord from corn husks.
What Sadie loved best was how deeply each piece could be studied.
Many were embellished with found objects used like beads and charms.
She was prouder of this exhibition than any of her previous creations, and she knew it was only the beginning.
Josh was building her website so other institutions could license the instructions and mount their own shows of the results.
She deeply hoped this set of textiles, available for sale as a collection, would go to a contemporary art museum somewhere outside of Pea Blossom.
Autumn weather was nestled over Blossom County, the leaves’ rich colors that attracted people from less forested parts of the Midwest. Sadie wore a black cable-knit sweater and black jeans.
Grace had picked up knitting during her pregnancy and made the sweater for Sadie, who took care never to mention the uneven sleeves.
When Grace showed up with baby Alanna, Sadie immediately stole the baby from Grace’s arms and carried her around, cooing at her gently. Sadie watched the attendees peering closely at the textiles on the walls and talking to the artists who made them.
Josh arrived late, as she’d requested. The man knew how to follow instructions.
He brought her a plastic cup of wine and a plate heaped with snacks.
She exchanged the baby with him for the plate and cup.
He fell into that bouncing, swaying rhythm people instinctively find while holding a small baby.
“Look at all this,” he said.
“I know.”
Sadie recognized plenty of the people in attendance.
The weavers and their families, of course, but also some faculty from the fine arts program at Indiana University, and more people she’d grown to care about in the year and change since she’d returned to Pea Blossom.
Library staff, farmers market vendors, the server at the coffee shop where she and Grace spent so many gossipy afternoons. They’d catered this opening.
“Have you tried the squash tartlets?” Josh asked, craning his head to look at the table with the appetizers.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you that I did not,” Sadie said.
“There’s Sadie Fox squash in with the butternut in the puree,” he explained. “It’s not flavorful enough to stand on its own yet, but at least this year’s crop doesn’t taste like my dead grandpa’s tobacco-stained fingernails.”
“They’ll always taste like garbage to me,” Sadie said. “But I love that you’re sticking with it.”
“It’s going to be so great when they actually taste good to everyone who isn’t you. Almost as great as beating a group of schoolchildren in a pumpkin-growing contest,” he said.
Sadie smiled, her biggest gap-toothed grin. “You only won because neither I nor my father competed this year. I was too busy with this. Next year will be different.”
Josh nodded and popped the tartlet from the plate she was holding into his mouth. When he finished chewing, he kissed his fingers, a gesture to the deliciousness of his squash, and then he dropped one tender kiss onto her cheek, and another on Alanna’s.
Sadie was standing beside her own piece, and Josh studied it.
“Ribwort plantain,” he said, and she nodded proudly.
He sang the name “rattlesnake master” like it was the chorus of a heavy metal song, and she heaved a sigh at his antics. Then he noted the twine at the center. Sadie had intentionally let some loose ends show in the front. One had one knot, one had two knots, and one had three knots.
The dawning recognition elicited a chuckle from Josh. “You never estimated the weight of that pumpkin, did you?”
“I didn’t,” Sadie admitted. “I had just talked to Esther about how to keep myself honest, and collecting things to weave was my way of making important moments visible.”
Sadie’s voice quavered with emotion, and thankfully Josh knew she would prefer not to cry at this event. Not because he was a mind reader; because she’d expressly told him, Don’t let me get too emo. I have a reputation to maintain .
So he changed the subject. “Speaking of pumpkins, where do you think you’re going to plant your pumpkins next year? I don’t know that it’s strictly fair for you to do it inside my perimeter again.”
“Uncle Bud will come through. Despite his turning Fox Family Farm into the salsa production operation of his dreams, he’ll give me a plot for a couple of plants. My father would curse the place if he didn’t. When I’m back on my family’s land, growing from scratch, you’ll see me at my full powers.”
Josh gestured to the reception, to all the people enjoying the art Sadie had conceived.
She looked around. Stu and Nate were yucking it up in one corner.
Esther and Priscilla stood holding hands, deep in conversation about something more mystical and cosmic than Sadie dared contemplate.
At the bar, Grace and PJ conspired over cocktails.
And Sadie had brought them all together.
“Is this not you at your full powers?” he asked.
“I’m ready to surprise both of us with what I’m capable of. But after tonight I’m going to need a little break.”
“What do you say we take a little vacation? Find a beach to nap on?”
“Get pinched awake by crabs?” Sadie suggested.
“You can show me everything you learned about romance playing Pinchy Boi . I was wooing you before we even met.”
The way Josh looked at her made her feel she was invincible, like any idea that sprouted from her mind was worthy of being planted.
He was the one who had planted the idea that maybe she could learn to love another person.
It hadn’t been easy to simply let that idea grow, wild and rambly as love always was, like a climbing vine consuming everything it could reach.
Her instincts had always told her to prune it back.
But here she was, still herself, lush and thriving, setting her first blooms. She didn’t know what they were going to look like yet, but she couldn’t wait to find out.
* * * * *
Thank you for reading Let’s Give ’Em Pumpkin to Talk About by Isabelle Popp.