Life is 'gourd' in Pumpkintown USA

MORTON, Ill. − America loses its head over pumpkins every fall. Pies, chilis, donuts, lattes, bread, beer and more, adding to a cultural flavor that's made the pumpkin a national icon ever since the headless horseman flung one at Ichabod Crane.

But there's a good chance every bite of the nation’s orange obsession has its origins in the same spot: Morton, a sleepy hollow outside Peoria that touts itself as the pumpkin capital of the world.

There seems to be no squashing that claim. Morton was built around a pumpkin factory that caters to most of the U.S. canned pumpkin demand. The factory has processed nearly 2 million tons of pumpkins over the past 16 years alone, according to factory spokesperson Olivia Jones. That's around 250 million pounds annually.

“We’re all about pumpkins here,” says Jeff Kaufman, the mayor of Morton, standing beside a carriage-size pumpkin-themed jungle gym on Main Street. “Pumpkins built the city. It all started from the pumpkins, that’s what put Morton on the map.”

Towns from Texas to California make similar claims for the pumpkin crown but data from the U.S. Department of Agriculture supports the Illinois town’s claim to the title. Illinois produces the most pumpkins of any state by far, harvesting twice as many acres as any other state and significantly more pounds per acre, according to federal data.

Many here are as enthusiastic about the autumnal fruit as its country pumpkin mayor. A wealth of pies and jack-o’-lanterns have made the town more than just a landmark of Americana. Pumpkins have given Morton a prosperous foundation that many struggling small towns would love to carve out for themselves.

Morton embraces the pumpkin for its role in building the town. The annual Pumpkin Festival has been the event of the year since 1967; local diners and coffee shops sell pumpkin-flavored dishes year-round; and people savor the aroma of pumpkins cooking at the factory as the sweet smell of success.

The Pumpkin Festival has made the small town a destination for Midwesterners. It draws an estimated crowd of 75,000 people, over four times the population of Morton itself.

But the factory puts a slice of Morton into the homes of Americans nationwide, even if pie-eaters don’t know it.

“Chances are when you have your pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving it came from right here in Morton, Illinois,” Kaufman says.

‘It was a bloodbath’: How pumpkins saved Morton farmers

John Ackerman is a beloved local farmer with a gleaming bald pate that catches the sun like a waxy gourd.

His eyes light up when talking about pumpkins, especially the endless varieties grown at his farm a mile outside downtown Morton. He picks his crop off hay bales like a sommelier pulling vintages from a wine cellar, identifying each pumpkin's traits, name and origin.

“La estrella” he says, holding up a mottled green gourd. “That’s a favorite with pumpkin throwers.”

He holds up another with leathery skin. “Jarrahdale,” he says. “Not so good for carving, but great for a savory soup.”

Pumpkins saved the Ackerman family farm.

The 63-year-old lives in the same house his great-granddad helped build, tilling the same fields his father worked. Decades ago, the crops were mainly corn, oat, and wheat. When Ackerman picked up the family trade in the ‘80s, the local farming industry was in crisis.

“It was a blood bath,” Ackerman said, recalling how many farmers sold their land or even committed suicide as drought and inflation cut down mom-and-pop farms.

Ackerman grew pumpkins in a desperate attempt to find some crop to carry him through hard times. He made a festive display for passing cars and drivers began stopping to ask how much for the jack-o’-lanterns. He added new varieties. One day a woman bought four of “the ugliest pumpkins” she said she'd ever seen, apparently just as novelty items of sorts.

He knew he had struck orange gold. The world wanted his pumpkins. Eat your heart out, Great Pumpkin.

Today, Ackerman sells over 160 varieties of pumpkin and winter squash and sources seeds from “every continent but Antarctica,” he says.

“That makes a good stacker,” he says, pointing out a round cushion-shaped white pumpkin.

“Chicago Warted Hubbard,” he pronounces, holding a knotted black gourd that looks like it was blown out of a volcano into a dumpster.

Ackerman and his crew pick around 30,000 gourds by hand every harvest, planted over 30 acres. The farm also grows pumpkins for the canning factory.

Smashing pumpkin records

The canning factory that made modern Morton sits near downtown where a sign framed by a giant pumpkin declares “Nestle welcomes you to Morton. Home of Libby’s pumpkin.”

Libby’s opened the factory in 1925 and began processing pumpkin exclusively in the 1970s around when Nestle bought the company, according to Morton Public Library Director Alissa Williams.

The factory’s output grew tremendously in the intervening decades. Libby’s cans about 120,000 tons of pumpkin annually, according to Olivia Jones, a Nestle spokesperson.

A constant stream of trucks carrying shipping containers full of canning pumpkins keep the intersection where the factory sits busy throughout the August through October harvest season.

The pumpkins they carry are paler and more oblong than a typical jack-o’-lantern, like faded waterlogged footballs. They come exclusively from farms within 100 miles of the factory, according to Jones. Libby’s says factory workers can the pumpkins within 24 hours of harvesting.

The factory’s success prompted Illinois Gov. Jim Thompson to declare Morton the “Pumpkin Capital of the World” in 1978.

Morton's own perfect pumpkin tradition

Keli Wagner, another native of pumpkin town, has an answer ready when asked what’s the perfect pumpkin, down to the exact measurements.

“About 12 inches, perfectly orange, round, no lumps,” says Wagner, adding it’s the perfect size for carving. “I’ve been shopping for pumpkins for too long.”

The self-avowed pumpkin head is wearing a sweatshirt that reads “It’s Pumpkin Season” and until recently ran a vintage boutique offering specialty findings from the early years of the pumpkin festival.

“You can get away with wearing a pumpkin shirt all year round in Morton,” she says.

But the gourd-hearted woman reconsiders her answer after a moment. The perfect pumpkin would have to be her first pumpkin, which in Morton speak, means her daughter, Jayci.

It’s become a tradition in the small town, Wagner says, for new parents to get baby clothes reading things like “My First Pumpkin.”

“You don’t just have your first kid,” she says, “you have your first little pumpkin if you're from Morton.”

This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: Pumpkins carry Morton, Illinois, to the ball