We have been every which way for the Pumpkinfest in the nine years of its existence.
By turns, we have been intrigued, excited, stupefied overwhelmed, underwhelmed, wound up, and worn out by this striking fascination with all things pumpkin that grip these parts about this time of year.
By now we are simply bemused by the scope and fervor of the event.
Like one of those Atlantic Giants dropped from 170 feet or so onto a hapless car, the Pumpkinfest exploded in our midst in recent years. While many of our annual festivals return like old friends, comfortably staid and reliably familiar, the still young Pumpkinfest is like that restless kid in grade school.
‘Good kid, his teachers say,’ shaking their heads. ‘He’s just got a lot of energy, that one.’
Think about this, right now there are folks all over the world, probably a good many of them who couldn’t find Maine on a map, for whom the phrase “Damariscotta Pumpkinfest” rings familiar.
For general tomfoolery it is hard to beat the Damariscotta Pirate Rendezvous, which boasts an actual honest to goodness “pirate invasion.” The Pumpkinfest has it beat, though, when it comes to inspired lunacy.
Maybe it’s something about the oddity of strapping an engine onto a gigantic pumpkin for the sole purpose of seeing how fast it goes.
Of course, when you think about it, that probably is a logical outcome, after you have embraced the idea to hollowing the blamed thing out and turning it into a boat.
