The Master Carver

September and October were busy months for Mason Holloway and, as usual, he was up before sunrise. His reputation as a master pumpkin carver has grown steadily since Pomroy’s first Jack-O'-Lantern Festival twenty years ago. Since then, he has created a solid niche for himself with commissions coming in from all over the MidAtlantic region. But the most important job was always for Pomroy. And this year was big. Twenty years and six Guiness world records later, this could be his last. His coffee steamed in the cool morning air as he stood on his back porch, watching the sun peek over the horizon. The leaves were starting their transformation, spraying the landscape with splashes of red and gold.

Mason absentmindedly flexed his left hand, trying to work out the stiffness that had been growing worse over the past few months. At sixty-five, he expected some decline, but the tremors were new. The doctor had called it early-stage Parkinson's. Mason hadn't told a soul, not when there was work to be done.

He finished his coffee and headed to his workshop, a converted garage that smelled of sawdust and pumpkin guts. Twenty years of carving the centerpiece for Pomroy's Jack-O'-Lantern Festival had left their mark on the place. Photos of previous creations lined one wall – a phoenix rising from flames, the town's original settlement, a memorial for 9/11, and many others. Each one had marked a moment in the town's collective history. Each one had helped Mason feel like he belonged.

The knock on the workshop’s door came precisely at 9 a.m., as scheduled. Mayor Wilson was nothing if not punctual. Mason wiped his hands on a shop towel and opened the door.

"Morning, Mason!" The mayor's booming voice filled the small entryway. "Ready for the big challenge this year?"

"Morning, Bill. Come on in." Mason stepped aside. "Coffee's fresh."

Bill Wilson had been mayor of Pomroy for almost as long as Mason had been carving pumpkins. They'd grown older together, their hair fading to gray at roughly the same pace. The mayor settled his considerable frame into an old wooden chair that creaked in protest.

"So, the tourism board finally got approval for the Guinness attempt," Bill said after taking his first sip of coffee. "We're going for 30,000 jack-o'-lanterns this year. That's almost double last year's count."

Mason whistled. "Ambitious."

"That's not all." Bill placed his coffee mug down with a decisive thunk. "We've got sponsors now. Real ones, with real money. The festival's going to be covered by three Philadelphia stations and a travel channel. Your centerpiece is going to be seen by folks across the country."

Mason felt a flutter of anxiety in his chest. "No pressure, right? You know, Bill, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to do this for much longer. You might think about who else can step in."

“Nonsense. The festival wouldn’t be the same without you. Just do what you always do, Mason." Bill's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Give us something to remember. And by the way, congratulations on twenty years. That's quite a milestone."

As the mayor rattled on about logistics and scaffolding, Mason found himself staring at his own hands resting on the table. The left one betrayed him with a slight tremor. He quickly moved it to his lap.

"You okay, Mason?" Bill asked, noticing Mason’s distraction.

"Fine. Just thinking about designs." Mason forced a smile. "I'll need to see that big boy they're growing over at Humbolt's Farm. If we're going for a record, I need the biggest canvas I can get."

After the mayor left, Mason sat alone in his workshop, staring at the wall calendar. Seven days. If the Parkinsons progressed as predicted, this was his last opportunity to offer this service. This one needed to be big.

***

One Woman's Junque had exactly what Mason was looking for. The antique shop sat at the corner of Main Street and Westfield Road, its windows displaying an ever-changing array of treasures. Mason had purchased several vintage carving tools here over the years. Marybeth Collette, the owner, had an uncanny knack for finding exactly what her customers needed, often before they knew they needed it.

The bell chimed as he pushed open the door. The shop was empty of customers, and instead of being greeted by Marybeth, a young Asian-American girl stood behind the counter. She looked about seventeen, with straight black hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. She was bent over a sketchbook, pencil moving rapidly across the page.

"Be with you in just a sec," she said without looking up.

Mason approached the counter, casually glancing at what she was drawing. His eyebrows rose in appreciation. The sketch showed a complex tree design, its roots growing off the bottom of the page, its branches reaching toward stylized stars.

"That's quite good," he said.

The girl startled and quickly closed the sketchbook. "Sorry! I didn't realize you were so close." She straightened up. "Can I help you find something?"

"I'm looking for vintage carving tools. Marybeth usually keeps a few in that display over there." Mason pointed to a glass case near the back.

"Oh, you must be Mr. Holloway." The girl's face brightened with recognition. "The pumpkin carver. MB mentioned you might be coming in. I'm Lily Chen. I work here part-time after school."

"You new in town?" Mason asked, following her to the display case.

"My dad got transferred here from Chicago last month." Her voice betrayed a hint of resignation. "Senior year at a new school. Lucky me. So far, my only friends are a couple of other loose ends from art class."

Mason watched as she unlocked the case.

“I couldn’t help noticing your drawing,” Mason blurted out awkwardly. "Do you work with anything besides pencil and paper?"

Lily looked down at her hands as if seeing them for the first time. "I guess. I draw. And I help my grandmother with paper cutting for Lunar New Year. Sometimes I do stuff for special occasions."

Mason nodded thoughtfully, an idea taking shape in his mind. "You ever carved a pumpkin, Lily?"

"Sure, who hasn't? Triangles for eyes, zigzag mouth." She shrugged. "Nothing fancy."

"How'd you like to help with something a bit more ambitious?"

Lily looked skeptical. "The centerpiece? I've seen pictures from previous years. That's way beyond my skill level."

"Skill can be taught," Mason replied, selecting a particularly fine V-gouge from the display. "It's imagination that matters. And based on that sketch I just saw, you've got plenty of that."

He watched as she considered the offer, her expression shifting from doubt to curiosity.

"What exactly would I have to do?" she asked finally.

"Meet me at Humbolt's Farm tomorrow at 10. We'll take a first look at our canvas."

As Mason paid for the tools, he caught Lily reopening her sketchbook, adding something to the tree design. He smiled to himself. Maybe this wouldn't be his last great pumpkin after all. Maybe it would be their first.

***

Humbolt's Farm was to pumpkins what Mason was to Jack O’Lanterns. Jim Humbolt specialized in oversized produce. He had been crossbreeding pumpkin varieties for decades, pushing the limits of what could be grown in Pennsylvania soil. His prized specimens never made it to anyone's pie – they were destined for competitions and harvest displays throughout the region.

Lily was already waiting, perched on a wooden fence, scribbling in her sketchbook when Mason’s truck drove up the road in a cloud of dust. She hopped down when she saw him.

"You're late," she said.

Mason checked his watch. "It's 10:02."

"Like I said." But there was a hint of a smile on her face.

Jim emerged from a nearby barn, wiping his hands on his overalls. "Mason! Right on time. And who's this?"

"My assistant," Mason said, enjoying Lily’s surprise at the title. "Lily Chen, meet Jim Humbolt, grower of mutant vegetables and keeper of pumpkin secrets."

Jim laughed and shook Lily's hand. "Don't listen to him. There's no secret. Just good soil, good seed, and talking nice to 'em while they grow."

He led them toward a fenced field where enormous orange globes dotted the landscape like alien eggs. "I've got something special for you this year, Mason. Been saving it for the Pomroy gig."

At the far end of the field, separated from the others, sat a pumpkin of truly monstrous proportions. It wasn't just large; it was massive – and almost perfectly round, which was unusual for oversized large squash. The fruit usually caved in on one side or another under its own weight. Mason walked around it slowly, assessing its shape from every angle. Jim followed close behind.

“The mayor has already been by. He says if you like it, it’s a go for the town’s pumpkin festival.”

"How much does she weigh?" he asked.

"Eight hundred and fifty pounds give or take," Jim said with undisguised pride. “Bigger than anything else locally and my personal best. Wall thickness should be about three to four inches all around, perfect for your kind of carving."

Lily approached the giant pumpkin cautiously, as if it might suddenly roll toward her. "It's bigger than my first car. I could literally fit inside it."

"Okay. That's the one," Mason declared. "We'll take it."

Jim beamed. "I was hoping you'd say that. I've got the flatbed ready."

As Jim went to bring his tractor around, Lily looked at Mason with concern. "How exactly are we going to carve something that big?"

“With a lot of planning,” Mason replied. “Which reminds me – let me see what you've been drawing in that book of yours."

Lily hesitated, then handed him her sketchbook. Mason flipped through designs – mandalas, animals, architectural elements, and several variations on the tree he'd glimpsed at the shop.

"These are good," he said, stopping at a design that incorporated the town hall into a larger scene. "Really good. But we need to think bigger for this one. This pumpkin will be seen from hundreds of feet away. Detail is important, but so is impact."

"What were you thinking?" Lily asked.

"I was thinking we could combine your tree concept with something that tells a story about Pomroy. Something that shows where we've been and where we're going." He handed the sketchbook back to her. "But it's not just about the design. You have to think about the limitations and characteristics of the medium and the tools. Carving a pumpkin this size takes special techniques. I'll teach you everything I know."

Jim returned with his tractor and a small flatbed trailer. "You two better stand back. Moving this beauty is like handling dynamite – one wrong move and SPLAT!"

They watched as Jim expertly maneuvered the giant pumpkin onto the flatbed using a series of rollers and winches. Once secured, he drove carefully toward the entrance, where a pickup truck would tow it to Mason’s workshop.

"You know," Jim said as they finished securing the pumpkin for transport, "my grandfather used to say pumpkins are special because they're vessels for light. In the old days, folks believed the light inside jack-o'-lanterns kept evil spirits away."

"What do you believe?" Lily asked.

Jim patted the enormous pumpkin affectionately. "I believe they bring people together. And in these times, that's magic enough for me."

***

The center of Mason's workshop had been cleared to make space for the delivery. The pumpkin would remain on the trailer until it was lifted in place at the festival. Large factory lights were positioned around the space eliminated shadows from the work area. Various tools – from delicate sculptors' loops to modified saws – were arranged neatly on a rolling cart.

"First rule of pumpkin carving," Mason told Lily as they stood before their orange canvas.

“What happens in the garage stays in the garage?” Lily asked.

“No,” he responded with a smile that twinkled in his eyes before turning serious again. "Respect your material. This isn't like wood or stone. It's living tissue that's going to change as we work."

"It's already dying," Lily observed.

"Exactly. We're working with decay, trying to create something beautiful in the face of impermanence." Mason ran his hand over the pumpkin's smooth surface. "That's why preparation matters. Once we start cutting, we hasten the process."

Over the next few days, Mason taught Lily the foundations of large-scale pumpkin carving using a series of practice pumpkins that were delivered along with the main event. They created detailed templates based on their combined design ideas. They measured wall thickness using specialized tools and discussed light refraction and shadow effects.

"The brightest areas need to be the thinnest," Mason explained, demonstrating on a smaller pumpkin. "But never cut all the way through, like on a regular jackolantern, or the wall might collapse."

Lily proved to be a quick learner. Her artistic background served her well, and her smaller hands could manage intricate cuts that challenged Mason's thicker and less dexterous fingers. They settled into a rhythm, working side by side daily after school and often into the night, sometimes talking, sometimes in comfortable silence.

"Why did you start doing this?" Lily asked one afternoon as they refined their design. "Carving the centerpiece, I mean."

Mason paused, considering how much to share. "I wasn't planning to. When I moved here after my wife died, I just wanted to be left alone. But that first year, the town was organizing the inaugural festival, and they needed someone who knew how to carve."

"And you volunteered?"

Mason smiled at the memory. "Not exactly. The town council members practically dragged me out of the house. I'd been a woodworker all my life, so they figured I at least had power tools and knew how to use them."

"What did you carve?"

"A phoenix. Rising from flames." Mason's eyes grew distant. "It felt right at the time. I was trying to start over."

"And you've done it every year since?"

"Twenty years," Mason confirmed. "Each one tells a story about something that happened in town that year. Last year was the new school building. Year before was the flood and how everyone pitched in to help."

Lily studied their current design – a tree whose roots formed the streets of Pomroy, its trunk showcasing the town hall, its branches outlining the town's history, the outermost leaves representing future possibilities.

"And this year is about connection," she said softly. "Roots to branches. Past to future."

Mason nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He'd been having more difficulty with the tremors lately, especially when he was tired. He'd caught Lily watching his hands on several occasions but appreciated that she hadn't mentioned it. Instead, she'd simply taken over certain tasks without comment, stepping in whenever his precision faltered.

That evening, after Lily had gone home, Mason sat alone in his workshop, staring at their evolving artwork. The truth was, he'd been lonely for a long time, keeping people at arm's length while connecting with them only through his annual creation. The pumpkin was safe – it would inevitably rot, preventing any lasting attachment.

But teaching Lily was different. In showing her what he knew, he was creating something that wouldn't decay with the seasons. The thought both comforted and terrified him.

***

The festival preparations were in full swing throughout Pomroy. Scaffolding rose along Main Street and around the town common, creating multilevel displays for thousands of jack-o'-lanterns. Shops decorated their windows with autumn themes, the scent of cinnamon and spice wafted from the bakery on the corner and the café beside the bookstore.

Mason and Lily took time out to walk around town, observing the preparations. They passed Josh and Marybeth assembling scaffolding outside her shop, One Woman’s Junque. Angie's children were spotted painting small pumpkins on their front porch, and the mayor was directing a team setting up lighting.

"I had no idea it was such a big deal," Lily admitted as they watched volunteers unloading pallets of pumpkins that had already been registered and approved by World Record officials.

"It wasn't always," Mason replied. "The first year, we had maybe two hundred pumpkins. But it grew every year. Now it's Pomroy's identity."

As they walked, townspeople stopped to chat, often sharing stories about previous festivals.

"Remember when Tom proposed to me with those four pumpkins?" a woman called to Mason from across the street. "Twenty years and he still can't carve worth a damn!"

"My dad's memorial pumpkin from last year..." a young man said quietly as they passed. "It meant a lot to see his name up there with all the others. Thanks again, Mason."

"My kids' first pumpkins were always my favorites," another woman told Lily as they examined the scaffolding design. "They were terrible, obviously, but every year they get a little better."

Mason watched Lily absorb these conversations, seeing the realization dawn on her face – this wasn't just about art or tradition. The festival had become the town's heartbeat, a way to mark time and connect across generations.

Back at the workshop, they made steady progress on their collaboration.

"This section needs more depth," Mason said, pointing to an area representing the town's founding. "The light won't carry through otherwise." The light being a narrow-beam spotlight that hung directly over the open top of the prize squash.

He reached for a tool, but as he extended his arm, a particularly violent tremor seized his hand. He froze, hoping Lily wouldn't notice.

"It's getting late. You should probably head home," he said.

"Just one more section," Lily insisted, working on an outermost leaf showing a new elementary school currently in the planning stages.

Mason stood to stretch his back. His hand tremor had worsened throughout the day, and he felt exhausted. As he moved around the workshop, gathering tools that needed cleaning, his arm began to twinge. Then a sudden movement sent a painful jolt up his arm, causing a massive spasm.

He stumbled forward, his hand plunging directly into the pumpkin – pushing straight through a key section depicting the town hall. There was a sickening squelch as his fist broke through the carefully carved surface.

"No!" Mason cried, jerking backward.

Lily spun around, her eyes widening at the ragged hole now marring their creation.

"It's okay," she said quickly. "We can fix it."

"Fix it? Look at that!" Mason's voice was approaching rage. "I've ruined it! Twenty years without a catastrophe, and now, for the biggest one yet..."

"It's not ruined. We can—"

"Stop!" Mason shouted. "Just... stop."

He sank onto a nearby stool, staring at his trembling hands. The silence stretched between them. 

"How long?" Lily asked quietly.

"How long what?"

"How long have you had Parkinson's?"

Mason looked up at her, rage giving way to resignation. "The doctor diagnosed it six months ago. Early stages. Some days are better than others."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"And say what? 'Hi, I'm Mason, the Master Carver with shaky hands'?" He gestured toward the damaged pumpkin. "This is why. This is exactly why."

Lily stood her ground. "We can still fix it."

"No, we can't! Not in time. The Seth will be here to pick it up at 2:00. They have to prep it for the lift at 6:00 pm." Mason's shoulders slumped. "Twenty years without a mistake, and now this."

"So what if it's not perfect? It's still amazing."

"You don't understand. This isn't just about a pumpkin. This is about legacy. About leaving something behind that matters." His voice broke. "And I can't even do that right."

The silence stretched between them. Finally, Lily picked up her jacket.

"I should go," she said softly.

"Lily, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

But she was already heading for the door. "No problem. I'll see you tomorrow. And I’ll have a plan. Don’t do anything until then." She pulled out her phone and took a quick snap of the damage before she headed out the door.

After she left, Mason sat alone in the growing darkness, staring at their damaged creation. He tried to convince himself it wasn't as bad as it looked, that they could somehow salvage it. But the more he examined the ragged hole, the more hopeless it seemed.

With a sigh, he picked up a tool and attempted to smooth the damaged area, but his hand was unsteady. After several failed attempts, he set the tool down in defeat.

For the first time in twenty years, Mason wondered if there would be a centerpiece jack-o'-lantern at the festival.

***

The day of the festival dawned clear and cool. Mason had been up most of the night, trying to figure out a workaround for the damage.

He was hunched over the pumpkin, meticulously shaving a small section, when the workshop door opened. He looked up, expecting to see Lily, but instead found himself facing four teenagers – Lily plus three others he didn't recognize.

"Morning, Mr. Holloway," Lily said, her tone businesslike. "These are my friends from art class. Nick specializes in sculpture, Min-Ji is our digital design expert, and Zach can build pretty much anything."

Mason blinked in confusion. "What's going on?"

"Reinforcements," Lily said simply. She approached the pumpkin, studying the damaged section with a critical eye. "We were up late working on this."

She unrolled a large sheet of paper on the workbench. It contained detailed sketches showing how the damaged town hall could be transformed into a completely new element – a living scene with townspeople gathered for a festival, carved in a different style that would stand out as deliberate.

"The damage actually works in our favor," Min-Ji explained, pointing to the deepest part of the hole. "It creates a natural recess for a three-dimensional effect."

"We can put a few people inside and the whole thing becomes a statement about community rather than buildings," Nick said. "The town isn't its structures; it's its people."

Mason looked from the teenagers to their design and back again, momentarily speechless. "You did all this last night?"

Lily shrugged. "We had pizza. Makes everything go faster."

"Why?" Mason asked simply.

"Because it matters," Lily replied. "To the town. To you." She hesitated, then added, "To me. I've only been here a month, and this is the first time I felt like I might belong. And when I reached out to my new friends, they didn’t hesitate."

Mason felt something shift inside him – a warmth he hadn't experienced in years. "Alright then," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Let's get to work."

The five of them worked throughout the morning, their energy and enthusiasm infectious. Nick's sculpting skills proved invaluable for the detailed figures. Min-Ji projected her digital design onto the surface to ensure perfect proportions. Zach engineered a few strategic spikes to reinforce the pumpkin wall that were completely out of sight.

Mason watched as Lily directed her friends with quiet confidence, making decisions and solving problems with an assurance that hadn't been there two weeks ago. She had absorbed everything he'd taught her and made it her own.

It was all going smoothly until…

“Shit!” Nick shouted as he threw his chisel at the wall of the garage.

“What!” Everyone asked at once. “What happened?”

“I just screwed up the whole thing! That’s all,” Nick threw his hands in the air and stomped his feet.

They ran round to where Nick was working and, sure enough, part of the original damage was now looking worse. His slip of the knife had caused a portion of the outer shell to cave in.

“Don’t blame yourself, Nick. If I hadn’t punched it through in the firs place, we wouldn’t be here,” Mason replied. “Now it looks like all hope is lost. I’ll call the mayor with the news.”

“Wait.” Zach called out as he rummaged through the garage. “I can fix it. Just give me a minute.” He located some thin wire. “Can I use this?”

“Sure.” Mason nodded his head as they all gathered around.

Zach worked swiftly and effortlessly to create an internal cage so perfect that when a light shown behind it, it became the church steeple from downtown, and the restoration began again.

Mason found himself doing more coaching than carving, guiding the teenagers with suggestions rather than taking over. His tremors were still present, but they mattered less as he discovered he could contribute in other ways – sharing technique, offering perspective, teaching patience.

By 2:00 pm, the transformation was complete. The damaged section was unrecognizable, now featuring a vibrant scene of townspeople gathered in celebration that looked as if it had been part of the design from the beginning. In fact, the entire pumpkin seemed more cohesive, the new elements tying together themes from both the roots and branches.

"It's time to move it," Mason announced, checking his watch. "The tractor should be here any minute now. They’ll take it to their shop and prep it for the lift. They can’t just put ropes around it and hoist it. The walls will cave in. They have perfected the lift over the years. They’ll transfer it to a pallet, then bundle the whole thing in a shell that will fall away after it’s in place."

As they carefully wrapped the giant pumpkin for transport, Mason pulled Lily aside. "Thank you," he said simply.

She smiled. "For what? This is your masterpiece."

Mason shook his head. "No. It's ours. All of ours." He looked around at the teenagers working together. "I've been so focused on leaving something behind that I forgot about passing something along."

"About that," Lily said hesitantly. "I was wondering if maybe... next year... I could help again?"

Mason felt his throat tighten with emotion. "I'd like that very much."

***

The town common was packed with people. Thousands of jack-o'-lanterns lined the scaffolding, waiting to be lit at the stroke of six. The air buzzed with excitement as families strolled among the shelves, admiring the creativity – from traditional faces to detailed designs, and playful scenes carved into pumpkins of all sizes.

Mason stood with Lily and her friends near the forty-foot central scaffolding where their creation would soon be ceremonially lit.  Around them, familiar faces from town stopped to chat – Marybeth from the Junque shop with Josh, Angie and her children in Halloween costumes, Mayor Wilson looking harried but happy.

"Quite a turnout," the mayor said, approaching Mason. "Tourism board says we've got visitors from eight states."

"How's the count looking?" Mason asked.

"Thirty thousand, five hundred and eighty-one," Bill replied with a triumphant grin. "Guinness representative is here to certify. We've demolished the old record."

At that moment, a pickup truck towing a trailer backed up to the scaffolding. Their pumpkin quickly became the center of attention. A crane operator prepared to lift it into position.

"Nervous?" Mason asked Lily as they watched the proceedings.

"Terrified," she admitted. "What if people don't like it?"

"Then we'll make a better one next year," Mason said simply.

The crowd murmured quietly as the giant pumpkin was carefully raised forty feet into the air and positioned atop the scaffolding. Workers secured it in place, then removed the protective coverings, revealing the Mason and Lily’s spectacular creation. Cheers and applause quickly followed.

Even unlit, the artistry was evident – from the detailed root system to the outermost leaves.

Mayor Wilson checked his watch. "It's time."

He handed Mason and Lily each a tall candle. Together, they approached the base of the scaffolding where a long sparkler ran the full height of the scaffolding to the pumpkin centerpiece.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the mayor announced through a megaphone, "I present to you our twentieth annual Jack-O'-Lantern Festival centerpiece, 'Roots to Branches,' created by our own Mason Holloway and his new apprentice, Lily Chen!"

The crowd applauded enthusiastically while assistants lit the candles. Mason glanced at Lily, who looked both embarrassed and pleased by the recognition.

"Ready?" he asked her.

She nodded.

Together, they touched their flames to the sparkler rope. Sparks raced upward along the edges of the structure, eventually reaching the giant pumpkin at the top. For a breathless moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the spotlight snapped on blasting its light through the magnificent artwork.

The crowd ooh’d and aah’d collectively. The scene, lit from behind, took on an almost magical quality. 

Around the common, thousands of smaller jack-o'-lanterns were glowing in the approaching darkness, creating a spectacular sea of light that stretched half a mile down Main Street. But it was the centerpiece that commanded attention, towering above them all.

"It's beautiful," Lily whispered.

"Yes, it is," Mason agreed, looking not at the pumpkin but at the faces of the townspeople illuminated in its glow – neighbors greeting neighbors, children pointing in wonder, old-timers reminiscing about festivals past. In the glow of thirty thousand jack-o'-lanterns, Mason Holloway, the Master Carver of Pomroy, smiled at his apprentice and said, "We should think bigger next year."