Up until then, I had been proudly placed on the front porch with all the other pumpkins and cozy fall decor. Anna, the one who had spotted me on that cold October day in the pumpkin patch, loved fall, loved Thanksgiving, and—crucially, during this time—loved the color orange.

You should have seen the inside of her house. Fall garland of orange leaves was beautifully hung along the window curtain rods and entryways. Orange and rust-colored pillows lay on her couches, and she even had little hints of orange throughout the house in the form of mini pumpkins, candles, and dishes.

But her love for orange-colored things is very temporary. As soon as that Thanksgiving turkey is cooked and devoured, I know I’m going to be next to have my fate handed over to me. Maybe it’s the stress of all the Thanksgiving prep, or perhaps it’s the overload of desserts—something sets Anna off as soon as the holiday is over, and she almost makes everything disappear as if nothing ever happened.

One good thing, I must say, is that I didn’t get carved, and pumpkins like me usually don’t. Due to my bumpy texture, I’m typically more of an “accent pumpkin.” People either hate me or love me, and Anna certainly fell in love with me when she first laid her pretty blue eyes on me.

“I need to have this pumpkin!” she said! I don’t blame her; I’m a pretty good-looking pumpkin.

Anyhow, even though I didn’t get carved, I knew I wasn’t going to be hanging around for much longer. I started seeing all this red and green decor coming out. The kids were suddenly in holiday pajamas, lights were going up on the porch, and a wicker reindeer quickly took my spot by the barrel of hay. I knew it was over for me.

Little by little, or shall I say, as quick as possible, anything and everything that was orange began to disappear. All of a sudden, she couldn’t stand that color anymore. If you were orange, you were out!

I saw Anna grab another pumpkin and make her way to the backyard. Some she put down near potted plants on the back porch—out of sight, out of mind! Okay, so maybe she was just going to move us all back there.

Next, it was the two big, fat, round pumpkins. They didn’t get carved either. I saw her stop and think for a moment, and then noticed she put those inside the house. Okay, not bad, I thought to myself.

Then came the moment I was dreading, or perhaps actually thinking, “This isn’t so bad, maybe I’m heading inside too.“

She grabbed me and another odd-looking pumpkin by our stems and carried us all the way into what seemed like a chicken coop!

A chicken coop! “No, why me?” I thought. “This is not going to be good.” I had heard about this. They leave us in here to get pecked and eaten away by a bunch of chickens.

“Anna, how could you do this to me?” I thought. She loved me! I was her pride and joy, and now all I was was a long-term chicken snack. The torture could last a long time. They peck and peck, little by little, until I become an open, empty, rotting pumpkin.

She closed the gate and went back into the house. Good thing for me, the chickens weren’t quick to notice me, so I stayed quiet and prayed for the best.

And then I heard the gate open.

My stem was grabbed by a warm hand—it was Anna. She came back for me! I knew she would.

She then placed me on the round, oval table near the blue velvety couch—not an orange thing in sight, might I add. But she put me down, looked at me, and whispered, “I’m going to turn you into Santa Claus!”

And this is the story of how I became Santa Claus. 

Morale of the story? Seasons come and seasons go, and some seasons even surprise us!

Supplies used for my amazing transformation:

Acrylic markers

and a good-looking pumpkin