Fall officially arrived this past Sunday, and though summer heat continues to linger, leaves have begun to carpet our lawn. I'll still be mowing into November, though not as often, and mainly to mulch the leaves. Sometimes, when mowing along the shady, wooded side of our front lawn, I find myself longing for cool October evenings and the rattle of dry leaves on the wind.
When I was young, my parents spent fall evenings in the yard, raking leaves into huge piles, often for us to jump into. As Halloween neared, some of those leaf piles were put to more creative use. Out came a pair of Dad's overalls, one of his worn flannel shirts, a pair old work shoes, and garden gloves. In went handfuls of those crunchy leaves to pad and shape the clothing into a reasonably convincing body. Mom sacrificed a worn pillowcase, which she stuffed with leaves and then drew a jack-o-lantern-style face on the outside. After assembling the upper and lower torso, the hands, feet and head, and positioning the body in a comfortable pose on the back step, the finishing touch was added: one of Dad's ball caps.
A photo from 1981 captures this jolly harvest figure—wearing what appears to be an eye patch—as though he's in the middle of telling a good yarn:
If my memory serves me, that was the last time that we had a harvest figure. At least for a while. The reason? We moved the following year from the Southeast to the West Coast, to a milder climate, and to a house with a smaller yard where relatively few leaves fell in autumn. Of course, you can stuff a harvest figure with other materials, but having a large supply of free leaves sure helps.
In later years, we made other harvest figures, following a similar pattern. We sometimes used newspaper or old t-shirts for stuffing, though I remember that rolled-up towels were good for filling pant legs and shirt sleeves, because they left fewer lumps than wads of newspaper did. Here is our figure from 1998, pre-staged in our living room:
My siblings and I got older and took the job over from our parents, and our displays eventually got a little more elaborate. Instead of just propping the figure up on the front porch, we set him up behind our parents' bedroom window, which looked out on the walkway up to the front door. I had a plaster cast of my face that I had made in a college class, and we put that in a basket and used it as the "head" of our headless figure.
One year, I put on some spooky makeup and hid just inside the front door, spying through the peephole to see when trick-or-treaters arrived. An older kid—probably middle-school age—walked up by himself, noticed the headless figure in the window, and approached the door. Before he could knock, I suddenly swung the door open and said, "Boo!" or something like that. The startled kid responded with an expletive. I chuckled, and offered a lighthearted apology along with some candy. But the kid, deflated, walked away without taking a single piece. I toned it down after that.
About 15 years ago, I moved back to the Southeast, to the region of my birth. I'm now a father of two boys. For the past two Halloweens, I have made harvest figures the way my parents used to—raking the yard and then stuffing handfuls of leaves into old clothes. Here's how our figure looked in 2022:
Last year, about a week before Halloween, I stuffed the clothes and head and then stored them in plastic tubs until October 31. Unfortunately, I completely forgot about the harvest figure until my wife, sons, and I were heading out the door that evening to trick-or-treat. At that point, I had to say "Oh well." I left all of the figure's parts in those plastic tubs for most of a year. And there they'll remain over the next month, until we assemble them on Halloween!
