Someone, somewhere, planted pumpkins. Ninety to one hundred twenty days later, someone harvests them. Days and miles and other hands later, the pumpkin ends up in a store or, most wonderfully of all, on our table. We smother it in whipped cream and Thanksgiving dinner is complete. We give thanks for the divine life that flowed from the soil and air and sunshine into those big, orange pumpkins. We give thanks for those who planted and those who harvested and those who drove the trucks and those who made the pie and those who milked the cows. The simple, lovely treasure of pumpkin pie becomes the springboard for a grateful exploration of the entire web of nature and humanity that sustains our life. We take notice and give thanks to the Creator.