autumn – Cindy Hval

This post from eight years ago showed up recently in my Facebook feed.

“I’m rethinking our maiden Scarywood visit. Derek’s reading the attraction descriptions aloud, and pauses and says, ‘Oh, he’s getting punched.’ He reads some more. ‘Oh. Clowns. Yeah, they’re getting punched.’ ”

Each autumn for the past 15 years, Silverwood Theme Park visits the dark side and transforms into Scarywood Haunted Nights.

After listening to Derek’s violent reaction to the haunt descriptions, I nixed that visit. Bailing my husband out of an Idaho jail might terrify, but not in a fun way.

Years passed. My husband mellowed (I hoped), and the day that memory popped up in my newsfeed happened to be the day I’d agreed to take him to media night at the theme park.

I thought I might need some backup in case he went rogue, so his sister, Camille, and her husband, Kjell, agreed to chaperone.

Our first stop was Lindy’s Restaurant – not for the scares, for the blood. While the park provided complimentary admission, parking, food and drink were on us.

Lindy’s offered fortification in the form of a new Blood Bag cocktail. The recipe includes fruit punch, tequila, Captain Morgan’s rum, triple sec and edible glitter. It’s served in a plastic bag like the kind you see hanging from IV poles in hospitals.

Not wanting to be too “fortified,” we decided one bag per couple was plenty.

Most of Silverwood’s signature rides are open at Scarywood, including the Timber Terror with a twist – the roller coaster runs backward!

Derek, Camille and Kjell were eager to ride, but I’ve been through enough jolts recently. I was left holding the Blood Bags. You’d think my position was enviable, but I couldn’t figure out how to unlock my IV to get the liquid flowing.

In exasperation, I gave it a good squeeze which was why I was wearing most of our blood bag when my husband exited the Timber Terror.

With gruesome red spatters on my white jacket, I fit right in with the cast at the park.

From there, we decided to explore a few of the five haunts.

First up: Chuckle’s 3D Sideshow.

Donning our 3D glasses, we entered the haunted funhouse. Gingerly, we crossed a bridge through a tunnel of spinning lights. Bloody clowns jumped at us, grabbed at us, popped out of boxes and loomed around corners, gleefully terrorizing us.

Fun times!

Then we visited Scarywood’s newest attraction – The Swine.

Billed as “the dark, forgotten chapter of the story you thought you knew,” The Swine is a corn maze populated by killer pigs and an angry Pig Mama.

These piggies aren’t afraid of any wolf’s huffing and puffing. They’re armed with chainsaws and have a thirst for blood.

The sound of pigs squealing accompanied each twist and turn of the maze. Lots of laughing and shrieking ensued, some of it from the pigs, most of it from us.

The following morning, I gleefully enjoyed the bacon Derek cooked for breakfast.

Whose squealing now, little piggy?

Our favorite haunt was Blood Bayou, where cannibals lurk behind every corner and sometimes beneath the stairs. If bloody gore isn’t your thing, you might want to skip this one, but for us it offered the most jump scares (and screams) of the night.

Scarywood also features themed scare zones, including Clown Town (think Pennywise, not Ronald McDonald) and Quarantine Zone (no COVID, but lots of bitey zombies).

Haunted by a roving cast of costumed characters, these areas offer lots of up-close and personal encounters with creatures from every nightmare you’ve had.

The Toybox scare zone proved my undoing. Derek didn’t clock a clown or poke a pig – instead, I was the one who got in trouble.

While we waited to see if Camille and Kjell would survive the Panic Plunge in the dark, blank-eyed broken dolls sidled up to us and otherwise stalked us.

I’ve seen “Toy Story” too many times to be scared by creepy dolls, so when a ghoulish gal approached me, I casually, said, “Boo!”

Mutely, she slowly shook her head and wagged a finger at me.

Seconds later a security guard approached and said, “You’re not allowed to scare the actors.”

I gulped and nodded.

While Derek gleefully chortled at my mortification, I mumbled, “She started it.”

Sure, there were crazed clowns, killer pigs and cranky cannibals, but apparently, one of the scariest things at Scarywood on opening night was a newspaper columnist saying, “Boo!”

Scarywood tickets are only available online. For dates, times and ticket information visit scarywoodhaunt.com.

Columns

Like the seasons, decorations come and go

October 5, 2018 Cindy Hval

It started small.

Several years ago, Mom was downsizing her autumn decorations and gave me a wicker cornucopia and a figurine of a Pilgrim woman carrying a basket of produce on one arm and a pumpkin in the other.

“I don’t know what happened to her Pilgrim husband,” she said. “I’ve been looking everywhere, but I think she’s been widowed.”

My Mom was a serial seasonal decorator. From pilgrims and pumpkins in the fall, to angels, candles and a Christmas village in the winter, followed by roses and greenery in the spring, she marked the change of seasons with change in household decor.

I, on the other hand, confined my home embellishments to decking the halls at Christmas.

That also started out small: a crèche, a nativity calendar, some stockings and of course, a tree.

Those few homey decorations somehow evolved into many large red and green plastic totes filled with wall hangings, wreaths, framed art, pillows, candles and a multitude of heavenly hosts.

Holiday fever spread to my kitchen and dining room with Christmas dishes, stemware, towels and serving pieces.

Then my husband and our youngest son caught the contagion, and now sometime after Thanksgiving, our lawn will be filled with lighted deer, candy canes, a nativity and angels.

I do have some self-restraint. I drew the line at a toilet paper holder that plays Jingle Bells. And even though the Santa bathroom set complete with a chimney on the tank cover tempted, I resisted. I mean, he already knows when I’m sleeping and knows when I’m awake; he doesn’t need to know anything else.

So, I should have known better when I adopted Mom’s harvest decorations. They looked lonely perched atop the piano.

We took the kids to Green Bluff, and I bought a few little pumpkins and corncobs. Then I added a couple vases Sam had made in elementary school. I really liked the autumn look, but the trim still seemed sparse.

Derek suggested we visit Hobby Lobby – a suggestion he has come to regret. For one thing, he didn’t really think I’d go. I have a deep-seated aversion to any type of craft or fabric store.

“They have home decorating stuff,” he said.

What he really meant is they had some cool outdoor decorations for the garden and his shed.

But he was right about the home decor. I browsed the harvest-themed shelves with Thanksgiving in my heart and picked out a few items.

Then I went back later and picked out a few more.

By now my eyes had been opened, and it seemed like every store I visited had some kind of autumn trim. Coasters, candy dishes, tablecloths, lighted garlands. Before I knew it, I’d somehow amassed a bin full of fall decorations, and there was more fall foliage inside our house than outside.

42393943_1971795409525743_2104120124876259328_o[1]

When I added a welcome mat and a couple outdoor “Welcome Autumn” signs, I felt I’d tied the theme together and vowed not to add anything else.

So far, so good.

Last year Mom moved to a retirement facility, and the transition was difficult. She spent her entire life turning houses into homes as she followed my dad’s Air Force career. Moving from a four-bedroom, two-bath home to an apartment was quite a change. But she rallied, and last week I thought it might be nice to add a few fall touches to her new place.

Of course, this required a quick trip to Hobby Lobby, but I wasn’t distracted in my mission and just picked out a couple of small things for Mom.

She was delighted and asked if I was still using the decorations she’d given me.

“Do you still have the Pilgrim lady?” she asked. “Did you ever find her a husband?”

“No, she’s still unattached,” I replied.

I’m not buying anymore decorations. I really mean it. But don’t you think that poor Pilgrim has been single long enough?

Pilgrim_woman_t1140[1]

Columns

Keep the Orange in Halloween!

October 30, 2017October 30, 2017 Cindy Hval

Sometimes you just have to take a stand – a produce stand.

After two back-to-back zucchini columns, I really thought I was done writing about squash.

I thought wrong.

You see, autumn is my favorite time of year. There’s nothing better than taking a stroll around the neighborhood under a crisp blue sky. Leaves crunch underfoot and trees show their best colors; a riot of russet, red and gold.

Halloween and fall decor comes out with bats, witches, spider webs and jack-o’-lanterns appearing on porches and lawns.

But the past few years I’ve noticed a rather alarming trend – ghostly white pumpkins. At first I thought folks were painting them, but then I saw the pale imitations popping up in grocery stores.

Turns out farmers are growing varieties of albino squash with names like Lumina, Cotton Candy, Full Moon, Polar Bear and miniature Baby Boos. They’re planting them mostly to keep up with decorating demands.

That’s right. Pinterest is ruining pumpkins!

An article on a travel website about the new crops, stated, “Orange is so yesterday.”

Have they even noticed who’s in the White House?

Speaking of, I don’t mean to be divisive, but unlike the Lorax, I didn’t speak for the trees, the Christmas trees, that is, and look what happened.

White flocked trees meant to simulate a dusting of snow, quickly devolved into madness when the new generation of artificial trees arrived. You can now purchase Christmas trees in most any hue; silver, pink, blue and even rainbow.

Taking the green out of holiday trees is an abomination. We might as well jettison Santa’s red velvet suit and put him a tux. While we’re at it, we could color his snowy white hair, trim that fluffy beard and give him a man bun and a soul patch.

Obviously, I’m a holiday purist.

Pumpkins have been orange since the Garden of Eden and I see no reason to adulterate them. Honestly, I find the albino variety ugly. Our landscape is soon going to be buried in white; can’t we enjoy a bright splash of tangerine before winter dulls our vistas?

As expected, when posting a potentially controversial opinion on social media, the haters came out in force. I was called “squashist,” “gourdist” and even “orange supremacist.”

I accept the charge of pumpkin profiling and am not ashamed.

This slope has already proved treacherously slippery. One Facebook friend admitted to owning a pink pumpkin. PINK! For the love of gourd!

My sister told me she’s even seen a teal squash. That’s something you can’t unsee.

It’s enough to put me off my Chocolate Chip Pumpkin bread and my Spicy Pumpkin muffins. Well, almost.

Another friend posted a meme of a field of albino squash captioned, “White pumpkins drained of their spice by illegal poachers. Please demand ethically sourced Pumpkin Spice lattes.”

Someone else replied, “#allpumpkinsmatter.”

I admit that gave me pause, and I briefly considered aborting my “Keep the Orange in Pumpkin” campaign, but I’d already gone to the trouble of creating a #pumpkinpurist hashtag, and feel it could be trending soon. It would be a shame to lose momentum.

When a friend wrote, “I judge a pumpkin by the content of its character,” I had to admire the sentiment. To be fair, if you slice into an albino pumpkin, you’ll find orange flesh, and supposedly these pale imitations have thinner skins, making them easier to carve.

Nevertheless I must persist.

And while I’m at it, pumpkins are fruit, so don’t go saying you got your vegetable servings in for the day, after three slices of pie.

As I wrapped up my research, I read this headline, “There’s no rule that pumpkins have to be orange.”

To that I can only say, well, there should be.

Contact Cindy Hval at dchval@juno.com. She is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories From the Greatest Generation.” You can listen to her podcast “Life, Love and Raising Sons” at SpokaneTalksOnline.com. Her previous columns are available online at spokesman.com/ columnists. Follow her on Twitter at @CindyHval