Mrs. Dingman!!! Please!!! DON'T Choose Me!!!
We continued exploring different types of creative writing by reviewing friendly letters, using a persuasive format. Children created two paragraphs, written from a pumpkin's point of view. The letters included vivid descriptions and persuasive arguments for me not to choose, buy, or carve them to decorate my front porch for this Fall season.

We continue to practice writing process skills using the available technology, aligning with the following Pennsylvania Academic Standards:
1.2.5 Reading Critically in All Content Areas
1.3.5 Reading, Analyzing and Interpreting Literature
1.4.5 Types of Writing
1.5.5 Quality of Writing
3.2.5 Inquiry and Design
3.7.5 Technological Devices

October 23, 2007

 Dear Mrs. Dingman,
Hi my name is Carrot Bottom and I live in Brennan’s farm. It’s pretty nice but it smells really bad. My owner is nice but he doesn’t harvest a lot so some pumpkins are overgrown. Since we pumpkins don’t have legs to get around we ride cows and I named mine Old Bessie. She is pretty old but she can still walk and it’s better than nothing. I don’t have a lot of friends because I’m weird looking and everybody else is perfect looking. I became weird looking when Old Bessie took a big bite of me and that’s how I am weird looking. Everybody laughed at me then but the bite kind of grew back… but in a weird shape. The corn made fun of me. But now I laugh at them because they’re almost completely dry and people are going to take them. I kind of like being an overgrown pumpkin because kids can’t pick me up and don’t want an overgrown pumpkin.
EWWWWWWEEEEEEE… I feel a spider crawling under me. On second thought I don’t like being overgrown because I’m a shelter to little animals. Here comes the farmer with water. Yes! OK! That felt good but now I taste well water. Mmmmm… it smells like the woman farmer is baking blueberry pie. I hear something but I don’t know what it is. I think it’s the farmer yelling at his little farmers. Oh, the farmer got a new scarecrow. I think I can’t see that well from here because I need glasses. Yes, Old Bessie is coming out of the barn. I think she might be coming over here so she could give me a ride to the field so I could get a good look at the new people. Let’s go Old Bessie.
Mrs. Dingman I heard the news you’re getting a pumpkin so I have something to tell you. I’m as tall as a cow and my stem is as big as an insect so try to pick me up if you want to. I have green stuff on me. I think it is mold. I smell bad and I’m as soggy as a frog. I’m funny looking. I look like a pig and I don’t have any guts even though I’m big. I don’t love anybody except for Old Bessie my cow. I will live on this farm forever. My friends are perfect so maybe you want them. I will hope to see you on the farm!

Your friend,
Carrot Bottom
AKA Clare

October 23, 2007
Dear Mrs. Dingman,
My name is Mr. Sillyhead. I live on a big farm. I see many pumpkins in the patch I’m in. I also see tractor and Ooo! Those darn people taking my family members. DARN PEOPLE!! I smell that DOG again! I also smell gas from those big tractors and smelly hands, those smelly people, and THAT DOG MAN!! I hear cars rumbling on the road. I hear people yelling for their sons or daughters, people yelling I got one, and people saying this one’s dumb. Yes! They didn’t pick me. I taste nice fresh soil and water. I taste sweat from people’s hands. I feel cool breezes, cold rain, hot sun, sweaty hands, and dirty hay. Those people are messy.
Please don’t pick me because I am very smelly and I won’t look good on your front porch. Don’t pick me because I get really bad carsick and it doesn’t look so good when it comes out. Don’t pick me because it doesn’t feel good when you stab me with a knife. Don’t pick me because I am not smart and you are so don’t pick me. I don’t look good carved at all. Don’t pick me because my mom doesn’t like it when I am gone for more than an hour or two. She gets very worried about me. Thank you for your time and effort reading my pumpkin letter.

Mr. Sillyhead
AKA Trever 

October 22, 2007

Dear Mrs. Dingman,
Hi, my name is Pumpkin Pie. I live in a field in western Minnesota. It’s interesting to be a pumpkin. Some days I feel tickling. I hope that means that I am growing. I hope that I am a good pumpkin. Some days I’m listening to the wind howl and I will look up and watch the sky moving by. A lot of times if it is quiet I can hear laughter from children far away. I like when the farmer massages me when he is taking care of me. Sometimes, from the cows I smell manure. It does not smell good. I have a lot of friends. They are good friends, but I cannot visit them because I am on a vine. I can talk to them though. I like imagining things. That’s why I have a lot of friends. They like my ideas. I like when it rains because I’m surely thirsty, but it gets the ground all muddy. I like the food too.  It takes me a couple of years to grow. 
Some nights I lay awake and talk to the moon. I laugh the whole time. She tells me jokes, stories, and asks how it is to be a pumpkin. I tell the moon that it is OK to be a pumpkin. I mean sometimes I wish I could roll over and take a nap. It is hard to sleep when you’re round. I love the color purple. The color is so interesting. I like the taste of the seeds that the farmer gives me. I wonder what I taste like? Some mornings when there is fog I can almost taste it… the stickiness and the wetness. A lot of mornings I hear the farmer getting up and starting the tractor. I smell gas from the highway, which is not that far away. My pumpkin field is the best! I love it. It’s great being a pumpkin.
I don’t think you should buy me because I’m still a baby. Since I’m still a baby I’m not evenly round. If you were to carve me and stick a candle in me it would fall over or blow out. If you wanted to cut me you would not be able to because I am too thick to cut through. So HA! If you thought that was a reason to buy me and carve me! I’m not fully ripe yet. I would just not be the right choice. To go along with that I have a brown spot on my back. I don’t like candy or anything else besides what the farmer gives me. I’m not sure what he gives me. You would not be able to feed me. I would die right off the back without the food. I don’t have a big stem either. I’m not a very good pumpkin yet, so you shouldn’t buy me. I’m just not the right pumpkin for you. You deserve a better one! 
I hope that you enjoy my letter. If it appeals to you it would be joyous to me. Thank you for everything.

Your friend,
Pumpkin Pie
AKA Alexis 

October 22, 2007

Dear Mrs. Dingman,
Hi I’m Hubba Bubba and I live in a mucky yucky pumpkin patch.  Every day I see millions of creepy people.  When the creepy people touch other pumpkins there is a lot of screaming, that’s for sure.  Throughout the holiday of Halloween I see a lot of different creatures like a pumpkin that is 1,000,000 of me.  Well anyway, you know how you can buy soda and candy apples and stuff? Well when everyone is done with their soda they throw them in the pumpkin patch. Once a candy apple landed right in my mouth. It was gross but yummy at the same time.  The other day I was sliding all around so I looked down and I was lying on pumpkin blood because one of my friends was apparently bleeding. But who knows? She’s full of seeds.  When I was the only one awake I heard this loud noise. It was another pumpkin’s snore.  During the day a guy walked right in front of me and slipped in the mud. I mean I heard people stepping in it and then all of a sudden he slips.  Yeah, so that’s me, Hubba Bubba. 
I just wanted to say ‘PLEASE DON’T BUY ME AND CARVE ME’ or else I’ll carve you when you’re sleeping and we don’t want that to happen do we, so back off.  Oh yeah, about that candy apple… It landed in my mouth. It was poisoned and it poisoned me.  Now that I’m poisoned I’m all squishy and bad. You have to believe a poor innocent pumpkin, don’t you?  Also if you carve me I’ll come back to haunt and tickle you until you cry. Do you smell that gross smell over here? Wait, it’s me. That’s another reason not to buy me. I smell horrible.  See this birthmark? Wait! Pumpkins don’t get birthmarks. It must be a sign that I’m going bad.  I know I’m cute and all but you don’t want a spoiled rotten pumpkin like me.  Thank you for that few minutes of your non-pumpkiny life.
Hubba Bubba
AKA Janel  

October 22, 2007 
Dear Mrs. Dingman,
Hi Mrs. Dingman.  I just got moved to a new patch but it’s not as nice as my old patch. Plus the new patch smells so bad I actually hopped 100 yards just to get away and that’s a lot of yards if you ask me. The best part is that I always get to eat chicken, turkey, and pie but it’s not pumpkin pie if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s not! It’s cherry pie. The worst part is the people. They’re constantly launching my friends in a catapult over houses for fun. Also the people put this weird slimy rough disgusting stuff on me. What I think is the best part is I can sit on a windowsill and eavesdrop on the peoples’ conversations and not get caught. Plus whenever people aren’t looking I trip them and that’s fun if you ask me. What I love is that I get to watch TV. I don’t like how I can only see shapes like a square or a triangle. Now that stinks because there are a lot of cool things in my life. At least I have a lot of friends who are funny and intelligent but not as funny and as intelligent as me of course.
Mrs. Dingman I have to tell you something. You can’t buy or carve me. I’m just too beautiful and pretty. But not really… But that’s not the point. You just can’t carve me. Plus I’m really slimy from bug guts and spit from the previous people that didn’t pick me to put me on their front porch. Not that I wanted them to. Also I’m enormously huge. I’m so big the world’s strongest man couldn’t lift me so I don’t think you can lift me. Even if you could lift me I would just flop right out of your hands because I’m so mushy. I don’t even think a bucket loader could lift me without having me splash all over the place. Now believe me that would be a big mushy mess to clean up. Thanks for reading and caring. But remember, don’t buy me.

Well see you next time,
Ploppty Plop Plop Plop 
AKA Justin 

October 23, 2007
Dear Mrs. Dingman,
Hello my name is Cinnamon Spice. I live in Holly Wood, California. I live on the best pumpkin patch in the USA. As I am sitting here in my patch I feel the sun beating down on my beautiful orange skin and I feel the children’s heavy feet running on my vine (ouch). There are times when I wish I could run too. I see the beautiful orange skies and clouds passing by. I see the very orange children running all over the place (every thing is orange when you’re a pumpkin). To tell you the truth I really like it here on the Five Star Pumpkin Patch. I hear the birds calling the scarecrows dumb names and I hear my neighbor Boris moaning and groaning. I hear the hayride’s motor running.  I smell the sweet crisp air on my skin. I smell my neighbor Boris (ew). I smell the new hay surrounding my house. I taste the sweet pumpkin-filled air and I taste Glenda’s disgusting perfume (Glenda is my other neighbor). I love my life on the Five Star Pumpkin Patch.
OK Mrs. Dingman here’s the deal… When you go pumpkin picking you cannot under any circumstances choose me because seriously I’m too perfect to rot. I’m just too beautiful and my stem is already killing me because everyone picks me up by it. I forgive them anyway because how could you resist picking me up? I’m perfect. I’m too young to be baked into something or to be carved so please please don’t buy me. I don’t know why people have to buy pumpkins just to carve them for decoration. You could buy a perfectly good plastic one in Wal-mart and it would already be carved for you. So please be nice to pumpkins and just buy a plastic one.  Thanks for reading this!

Cinnamon Spice
AKA Kristi

October 23, 2007
Dear Mrs. Dingman,
Hi, my name is Squatty Watty and I am a pumpkin.  I live in a pumpkin patch in Tallahassee, Florida.  I usually see a normal pumpkin patch, but sometimes I see odd figures picking and choosing pumpkins.  I see the vines and leaves of pumpkins and all the leafy green fields.  I see your odd leafless vines in which you call feet.  I see all my pumpkin friends and I see yours, too.  I smell the gross human odor and your gross smelling perfumes.  I also smell my best pal Stink Buggy.  I especially smell the wonderful smell of pumpkin.  I am startled at the sound of the odd communication of your kind. I hear the vine steps in which you call footsteps and the rustling of leaves from me rolling and you walking.  I taste pumpkin, pumpkin pie, and anything else that has to do with pumpkin or is made out of pumpkin.  I taste the great taste of bugs and grub that are crawling around inside me (they always give me the chills).  I taste the gross thing that you call skin whenever you put your 3rd and 4th vines in which you call hands inside my mouth and the annoying leaves that stick to me whenever it rains.  I taste the dirt that you kick up into my mouth.  I feel the worst things you can imagine like those grimy little 3rd and 4th vines (O.K hands).  I feel boots that kick me onto other pumpkin vines (then I feel a mad pumpkin hit me).  I always feel the cold hard ground unless you kick me into the air or hold me up high in the air.  I feel rain, hail, snow, and all the other horrible weather conditions.
Don’t choose me!  Look at that last sentence.  I didn’t even say please. Don’t you see how rude and rotten I am?  Don’t choose me because pumpkins are probably the grossest things alive (even though we’re not alive anymore).  You wouldn’t want your porch to be even more ugly and stinkier than it already is because pumpkins are ugly and Stink Buggy is my best pal.  You will most likely choose the prettiest side of me to carve and the prettier side of me is my back and oh yeah it hurts!  Don’t choose me for Halloween because Halloween is probably the stupidest holiday that ever existed.  I mean no one believes in ghosts, ghouls, goblins, witches, warlocks, and the crazy guy who stole a pumpkin for his head.  I appreciate and think it’s nice of you to take your time to read this letter.

Yours truly,

Squatty Watty
AKA Sarah   
October 22, 2007
Dear Mrs. Dingman,
I’m Jeff Stem Seed. I’m a pumpkin. I live at Pushily Heights, South Kauri. In Pushily Heights there’s a lot of activities! There’s apple picking, pumpkin painting pumpkin picking, and pumpkin carving (which I hate by the way.) I see pumpkin seeds. Lots and lots of people passing me think I’m too small of a pumpkin. I also see vines, rotten pumpkins, beautiful signs that say “Welcome to Pushily Heights”, a store, a candy shop, and crows. I taste seeds, stem leaves, lots of vines, and apple cider.  I smell pumpkin pie, (I sure hope I don’t turn into one!) burnt seeds, apple pie, and apple candy. I hear saws sawing vines, feet, and voices deciding about what apple or pumpkin to pick. I feel afraid, happy, get stem freeze when I eat ice cream, and seed crazy about who’s going to pick me someday!
Please don’t choose me because I’m too heavy and big to hold or pick up. I’m too ugly and rotten. I am too small on the inside and only have one seed! I really like this one seed so please don’t pick me to cook my seed and eat it. Plus I have a big hole in me, my stem fell off, and I’m tangled in vines in the back right corner of the pumpkin patch. I’m too young to die. I’ve had a short but good life so far so please don’t pick me. Please wait until I’m bigger and older. Oh yeah, it’s not pumpkin season. Thank you for reading my letter. You’re so kind. Although I didn’t really type it, I’m just a pumpkin!

Jeff Stem Seed
AKA Zachery

This page was last updated: October 14, 2022
Don't Choose Me!