I Would Sell My Soul for This Dutch Oven

Some years back when a neighbor I'd only met twice at most, was attempting to insult me, he added a p.s. to a Facebook message saying, "By the way,Halloween“我们每年只有一次。我们既学会，成长又埋葬了镰刀，但是我仍然想下车，那就是：不。你们都可以继续享受你的怪异季节，但对于老年人来说- 哥特人和婴儿蝙蝠以及介于两者之间的每个黑暗灵魂，用事工的阿尔·乔恩森（Al Jourgensen）的不朽言语，每天都是万圣节。housewares shoppingin the month of October like my husband and I do.

Our anniversary is in early October and I swooped in the second that theJohn Derian产品系列forTarget's Threshold linewas available and boughtthe majority of itas his gift. (He got me lights for my indoor citrus trees.) Lest you think I'm exaggerating, an entire swath of wall in my orange and black chalkboard-painted kitchen is occupied by a nearly five-foot tall cardboard Beistle witch, there is a massive tin Cthulu backsplash behind the stove, and you can't look in any direction for very long before spotting a skull, spiderweb, or Robert Smith's head.

But there's still one thing missing: acast iron Dutch oven, shaped like a pumpkin。这不仅仅是我一晚过多的苦艾酒后幻觉。传奇的铸铁品牌Staub以磨砂黑色的形式使这种美丽使这种美丽成为垂死的星星，并带有闪亮的金色手柄，像真实生活的同类产品一样粗糙和旋转。它有收获的橙色或白色饰面，也很挑剔（花费少一些），但这并不是您可以在带有蒂芙尼盒子的Gollum的洞穴中出现，他会全都是CoolcoolCool，不再需要对我的追求。我想要我想要的东西，但我不能让自己拥有它。不会撒谎，这东西很昂贵，我实际上拥有它的黑色哑光，tomato-shaped counterpartso it feels too indulgent. Even if I tell myself that tomatoes are SummerGoth and pumpkins are AutumnGoth, and it's an object that will last a lifetime.

And beyond. As per Goth law, and lately, in mourning my newly-lost parent from many states away, I have been spending hours and hours wandering the grounds of Green-Wood Cemetery. It's a centuries-old, 478-acre space of respite in the middle of Sunset Park, Brooklyn, with a robust and respectful arts program and a deep commitment to the natural world. On a recent walk (headphones on and listening toartist Gelsey Bell's gorgeous audio tour) I came upon a confluence of curious things. First, a very old grave marker that looked for all the world like a giant soup tureen, rendered in stone (I stopped just short of knocking on it to see if it was secretly metal). Second, a weather-faded, painted stone Dopey standing eternal watch over the grave of a family with an apparently shared sense of whimsy. Third, many, many gravesites, both fresh and aged, newly decorated for Halloween with scarecrows, pumpkins, cornstalks, garlands, skulls, dolls, and flowers in autumn hues. Granted, my heart is especially mushy as of late, but it was so very tender to me—both the joyful inclusion of the dearly departed in holiday festivities, and the unapologetic celebration of who these people were in life.

A black, cast-iron pumpkin Dutch oven is the nexus of so many parts of me: metalsmith, cook, lover of the macabre. I can't not think that would be a great place for my mortal, ashed-down cremains to find their lasting, Halloween-loving place. Maybe I'll stew on that.

p.s. You can buy the black pumpkin atWilliams-Sonomaor atWayfair($290) and also in orange atSur La Table($200). Please give it a hug for me.