The History of Pumpkinlight Cove

In October 1693, an abundantly wealthy man by the name of Rudyard Addams arrived on the shore of Massachusetts with the intention of founding a township that could be sustained through farming, shipping, & light industry.

. . .

But he felt overwhelmed by the bustle of Boston and desperately wanted to remain clear of the recent and potentially spreading turbulence associated with Salem.

In time, he ultimately settled upon a large expanse of land at the southernmost part of the coast of what is now Maine. And through his massive wealth and the assistance of several hundred volunteers, he established a thriving community of respectable size, known as Rudyard’s Cove.

The village charter was officially granted to Mr. Addams by the Massachusetts Bay Colony in the spring of 1697. And with it, a growing population and prosperity for all.

A Turn of Events

Circumstances began to change in the spring of 1701. Despite the aforementioned prosperity, he felt his new home was becoming rather eerie due to recurring, intermittent fog as well as a seemingly perpetual existence of wind, rain, or lightning storms.

Naturally, the hitherto booming population began to show signs of unease.

Fearing his village would collapse from mass retreat, he began longing for calmer times. In doing so, he remembered the captivating gourds he saw being grown in and around his original landing spot in Massachusetts.

(Despite what the history books say, the carving of pumpkins began much earlier than what historians claim!)

Which is why Mr. Addams began growing pumpkins—tons of them, seemingly innumerable.

Once ready for harvesting, he picked them, carved amusing faces that could emit abundant light, and placed candles within. He then positioned the pumpkins along the perimeter of the village and throughout its interior, hoping the cozy illumination and ridiculous facial expressions would calm the minds of his fellow residents.

A New Generation

Fortunately, the pumpkin-light remedy had both a soothing and captivating effect on the people of Rudyard’s Cove. So much so that it not only became a tradition to grow pumpkins en masse—so the village could be illuminated all year—but residents actually began to embrace the eerie nature that lingered all year.

In time, they augmented life in the Cove with decorations, costumery, festivals, and the like. Moreover, Rudyard’s Cove eventually added a tourist element to their local economy, for colonists far and wide travelled from locals near and far to see this magical place.

And so it was that peace and prosperity put down roots in the village.

. . .

Mr. Addams passed away in 1738. To pay tribute to his tremendous contribution to their village, the Cove’s governing council decided to amend the charter in honor of Mr. Addams.

In 1738, Rudyard’s Cove officially became Pumpkinlight™ Cove.

PRESENT DAY | You’re probably wondering how the village fares today. Well, the easiest way to find out is by way of storytelling—books and broadsides, live storytelling events, and the Cove’s community publication, The Pumpkinlight Periodical.

These reading experiences will speak of people (and non-people) and circumstances that all take place in our large but peculiar Maine community.

The tales—though real in the eyes of our citizens will undoubtedly seem fictitious to the common outsider—are being meticulously constructed by our village’s resident storyteller, The Curious Mr. Blend™. They shall be published (or recounted in-person) over the next several years and beyond.

But let it be known that Mr. Blend is working hard to tell not only stories from the recent past—in third-person perspective—but those that are unfolding at this very moment! (All whimsically peculiar and playfully macabre, but appropriate for K-7 families.)

. . .

So, discover for yourself—step into the shadows of Pumpkinlight Cove!

YE OLDE SCUTTLEBUTT | It has been said, in whispers and rhymes, that there exists a one-legged raven that sometimes looks like a crow. The raven—or crow, depending on the time of night—sits, still as stone, on various branches, gutters, chimneys, etc. throughout the village, without rhyme or reason. But never during the light of day.

Supposedly, it guards our village from anyone seeking to bring a kerfuffle upon this quiet corner of an almost-forgotten countryside.

Upon rare occasion, some late-evening merrymaking or nonsensical dispute renders a townsperson noticeably boisterous, which seemingly catches the attention of the village’s one-legged guardian.

In such instances, victims witnesses claim a caw—or a deep, gurgling croak—resounds through the area, creating a sense of immediate fear alongside a gust of wind so ominous that it brings said witnesses to a hurried stumble.

But that is nothing, they say, when compared to the angry orange eyes and outstretched talons that follow, almost to the point of physical contact. And then—without fail and at the last possible moment—the whole experience disappears.

As we said, to this day that crow—or raven, depending on the time of night—has never actually been seen in the light of day.

’Tis possible it passed on at the conclusion of its long-term service to the village, thus relegating these accounts to vivid imaginations ...

Though some say the guardian simply refuses to reveal its full form ...

Or, perchance, it was never real at all.