[MORNING CALM TALES] Carving jack-o'-lanterns at an English academy and the 'Great Pumpkin Showdown' of 1991

In October 1991, an English teacher and students at ELS in Seoul carved a jack-o’-lantern for Halloween and clashed with cleaning women over the discarded pumpkin insides. The women collected the pulp and seeds because they considered them usable food, while the teachers saw them as waste from the carving activity. A Korean office staff member helped them agree that carving could continue while the women took the insides. The class’s pumpkin won first prize for the scariest jack-o’-lantern the next day.

The teachers created their own lesson plans and demonstrations because there was no internet, YouTube or ChatGPT to provide instructions.

The pumpkins available in Korea were described as smaller, flatter and often pale brownish-orange compared with the large orange pumpkins familiar in North America.

A former Korean Air flight attendant joked that passengers might not be happy if she had dug into a pumpkin on an airplane.

The author identifies himself as Jeffrey Miller and says he was nearing the end of his first year teaching English in Korea.

Published Oct 30, 2026 6:30 am KST

Students pose with a carved jack-o'-lantern at a private English language institute in Seoul, Oct. 30, 1991. Courtesy of Jeffrey Miller

It was October 1991, and I was teaching English at ELS, a private English language institute in Seoul, when a rather unusual confrontation took place just outside my classroom.

One of the institute’s cleaning women stopped at the classroom door and stared into the trash can. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she looked at my students, looked at me and began speaking rapidly in Korean. I understood enough of what she was saying to know that it had nothing to do with cleaning. Her tone alone was enough to send chills down my spine.

It was all over a pumpkin. Or, more precisely, what had once been inside it.

I was nearing the end of my first year teaching English in Korea, and Halloween was still something of a novelty. Most of my students had never heard of trick-or-treating, carving a jack-o’-lantern or dressing up as witches, ghosts and monsters. For English teachers, that made the holiday a wonderful opportunity to introduce a little Western culture into the classroom while giving everyone a break from grammar drills and pronunciation exercises.

As Halloween approached, several teachers gathered in the staff room to discuss how we might celebrate the holiday. Someone suggested a haunted house in the basement. Another proposed a costume contest. Then someone suggested a jack-o’-lantern carving contest, and everyone agreed it was a wonderful idea. Most of our students had never seen a real jack-o’-lantern, much less carved one themselves, and we were excited about introducing them to the tradition.

Of course, teaching something like pumpkin carving in 1991 required a little more preparation than it would today. There was no internet to search for lesson plans, no YouTube videos demonstrating how to carve the perfect jack-o’-lantern and certainly no ChatGPT to put together a classroom activity in a matter of seconds. If we wanted to teach our students how to carve a pumpkin, we had to come up with the lesson plans ourselves. That meant figuring out how to explain the tradition, introducing the necessary vocabulary and demonstrating each step of the process. We couldn’t simply pull up a video and let someone else do the explaining. We were the video, the instructions and, more often than not, the entertainment.

There was also one small problem. We needed pumpkins. Although pumpkins are easy to find all around Korea, they aren’t quite the same as the big orange ones found throughout North America. Korean pumpkins tend to be smaller, flatter and often a pale brownish-orange color. They’re excellent for cooking but not particularly well-suited for carving scary faces. Fortunately, whoever had been assigned the task of finding pumpkins managed to locate a supply that looked reasonably close to the American version. They weren’t perfect, but they would do.

What I didn’t fully appreciate at the time was how differently Koreans viewed pumpkins. Of course, we eat pumpkins in North America, too. Pumpkin pie is practically a Thanksgiving tradition, and there are plenty of other ways to enjoy them. But come Halloween, those big orange pumpkins are more likely to end up on someone’s front porch with a face carved into them than in the kitchen.

In Korea, pumpkins are a familiar ingredient in soups, porridges and other dishes. One of my favorite Korean foods would eventually become "hobakjuk," a thick pumpkin porridge that’s particularly good on a cold winter day. But in October 1991, I wasn’t thinking about pumpkin pie or pumpkin porridge. I was thinking about carving a scary face into a pumpkin and winning a contest.

The day before Halloween, pumpkins were distributed to classrooms throughout the institute. My students were immediately enthusiastic, although most had no idea what they were supposed to do with the strange-looking vegetable sitting on the desk.

Students carve a pumpkin at a private English language institute in Seoul, Oct. 30, 1991. Courtesy of Jeffrey Miller

Armed with our homemade lesson plans and whatever pumpkin-carving experience we had brought with us from our respective countries, we set about introducing the tradition to our students. After all, our teaching staff included Canadians, Australians, Brits and Americans, all of whom were familiar with Halloween to varying degrees. I introduced the vocabulary, explained the tradition of carving jack-o’-lanterns and then demonstrated how to remove the top of the pumpkin before scooping out the insides.

Soon my students were gathered around our pumpkin like a team of surgeons preparing for an operation. Hands disappeared into the hollowed-out pumpkin and emerged covered in slippery orange strands and fistfuls of seeds. The classroom erupted in laughter as students who normally approached English conversation with caution suddenly became animated and competitive.

One student, a former Korean Air flight attendant, laughed as she dug both hands into the pumpkin. “I never did this on airplane,” she said.

She held up a dripping handful of pumpkin guts. “Maybe the passengers would not be happy.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Students scoop the guts out of a pumpkin at a private English language institute in Seoul, Oct. 30, 1991. Courtesy of Jeffrey Miller

Another student quickly took charge of designing the face, sketching out the familiar triangular eyes, a triangular nose and a wide, toothy grin with a few crooked teeth. Nothing particularly fancy, mind you. It was your standard, garden-variety jack-o’-lantern, the kind you might see sitting on a front porch in any American neighborhood on Halloween night. All it needed was a candle inside to make that goofy grin glow in the dark. Still, we were proud of our creation, and everyone seemed convinced we had a good chance of winning the contest.

As the carving continued, pumpkin seeds and stringy orange pulp accumulated in the trash can. Students scooped out handful after handful and tossed them away without a second thought. After all, that was what you did when carving a jack-o’-lantern. You removed the insides, threw them away and got on with the important business of making your pumpkin look scary.

A student draws a face on a pumpkin at a private English language institute in Seoul, Oct. 30, 1991. Courtesy of Jeffrey Miller

At least that’s what we thought. The cleaning women had other ideas.

The first sign of trouble came when one of the cleaning women discovered what we had thrown away. After staring into our trash can in disbelief and making her feelings quite clear, she hurried off down the hallway. A few minutes later, she returned with reinforcements. Three more cleaning women arrived behind her, and together they stood outside our classroom staring at the pumpkin remains. They began talking excitedly among themselves, occasionally pointing at the trash can and looking at us as though we had lost our minds.

Then, without warning, they sprang into action.

The four women descended upon the trash can and began rescuing handfuls of pumpkin innards, placing them into plastic bags they had somehow produced from nowhere. My students stopped what they were doing and watched in amazement. I stood there wondering what on earth was happening.

One student turned to me and asked, “Teacher, what are they doing?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” I admitted.

It soon became apparent that similar scenes were taking place throughout the institute. In classroom after classroom, cleaning women were intercepting pumpkin remains before they could be thrown away. The foreign teachers tried to explain Halloween, while the cleaning women tried to explain that perfectly good food was being wasted. Neither side seemed particularly convinced by the other’s argument.

To us, the pumpkin guts were something to throw away. To the cleaning women, throwing them away was the problem.

What followed became known among several of us as the "Great Pumpkin Showdown." There was plenty of excited talking, pointing and gesturing as teachers and cleaning women tried to make themselves understood. The students, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying the unexpected entertainment almost as much as the pumpkin carving itself. At one point, I wondered whether we might have to call off the contest altogether.

Fortunately, a member of the Korean office staff stepped in and helped settle the matter. The solution was simple enough. Students could continue carving their pumpkins and the cleaning women could collect the insides instead of having them thrown away. Everyone was happy. The students got their Halloween activity, the teachers got their jack-o’-lanterns and the cleaning women went home with what must have been an impressive amount of pumpkin.

And the following day, our rather ordinary-looking jack-o’-lantern somehow managed to win first prize for the scariest jack-o’-lantern.

Students pose with carved jack-o'-lanterns at a private English language institute in Seoul, Oct. 30, 1991. Courtesy of Jeffrey Miller

Looking back, it remains one of my favorite memories from my first year in Korea. At the time, it seemed like a simple misunderstanding.

Years later, I realized it was something more. It was one of my first lessons that culture often reveals itself in the smallest moments. The foreign teachers and students looked at a pumpkin and saw Halloween. The cleaning women looked at the same pumpkin and saw food. Neither side was wrong. We were simply seeing the same pumpkin through different eyes.

Jeffrey Miller is the author of several novels . His latest is " The Tree at Panmunjom ," about the 1976 Axe Murder Incident. Reach him at daejeonscribe@yahoo.com.

1991年10月，首尔ELS学校的一位英语老师和学生们在万圣节雕刻南瓜灯时，与清洁女工就南瓜瓤的处理问题发生了冲突。女工们收集了南瓜瓤和籽，认为它们可以食用，而老师们则认为这是雕刻过程中产生的垃圾。一位韩国学校工作人员出面调解，最终双方达成一致：雕刻可以继续进行，而清洁女工们则负责收集南瓜瓤。第二天，这群学生的南瓜灯赢得了“最恐怖南瓜灯”的称号。

由于没有互联网、YouTube 或 ChatGPT 等工具提供教学指导，教师们只能自己制定课程计划和演示方案。

韩国的南瓜与北美常见的橙色大南瓜相比，个头较小、扁平，颜色通常呈浅棕橙色。

一位前大韩航空空姐开玩笑说，如果她在飞机上吃南瓜，乘客们可能不会高兴。

作者自称杰弗里·米勒，并表示他即将结束在韩国的第一年英语教学工作。

发布于2026年10月30日韩国时间上午6:30

1991年10月30日，首尔一家私立英语语言培训机构的学生们与雕刻好的南瓜灯合影。照片由杰弗里·米勒提供。

那是 1991 年 10 月，我在首尔的一家私立英语语言学院 ELS 教英语，当时就在我的教室外发生了一起相当不寻常的冲突。

学院的一名清洁女工停在教室门口，盯着垃圾桶看了一会儿。她沉默了一会儿，然后看了看我的学生，又看了看我，开始用韩语快速地说着什么。我听懂了一些，知道她讲的肯定和清洁无关。光是她的语气就足以让我脊背发凉。

到处都是南瓜。或者更准确地说，是南瓜里面曾经装过的东西。

我在韩国教英语的第一年即将结束，万圣节对学生们来说还很新鲜。我的大多数学生都没听说过“不给糖就捣蛋”、雕刻南瓜灯或者装扮成女巫、幽灵和怪物。对英语老师来说，这反而让这个节日成为一个绝佳的机会，既能向课堂上介绍一些西方文化，又能让大家暂时放下语法练习和发音练习。

万圣节临近，几位老师聚集在教职工休息室，讨论如何庆祝这个节日。有人提议在地下室布置一个鬼屋。有人提议举办服装比赛。后来有人提议举办南瓜灯雕刻比赛，大家都觉得这个主意很棒。我们的大多数学生都没见过真正的南瓜灯，更别说自己雕刻了，我们很兴奋能让他们了解这个传统。

当然，在1991年教学生雕刻南瓜灯这类课程，需要比现在多做些准备工作。那时没有互联网可以搜索教案，没有YouTube视频演示如何雕刻出完美的南瓜灯，更没有ChatGPT这种工具可以在几秒钟内准备好课堂活动。如果我们想教学生雕刻南瓜灯，就必须自己制定教案。这意味着我们要思考如何解释这项传统，引入必要的词汇，并演示每个步骤。我们不能简单地找个视频，让别人来讲解。我们既是视频，又是讲解员，而且通常还要负责娱乐。

还有一个小问题。我们需要南瓜。虽然在韩国到处都能找到南瓜，但它们和北美常见的橙色大南瓜不太一样。韩国南瓜通常比较小，比较扁平，颜色也常常是浅棕橙色。它们很适合烹饪，但不太适合雕刻恐怖的脸。幸运的是，负责找南瓜的人找到了一批看起来和美国南瓜比较接近的南瓜。它们并不完美，但也能凑合用。

当时我并没有完全意识到韩国人对南瓜的看法有多么不同。当然，北美人也吃南瓜。南瓜派几乎是感恩节的传统美食，而且还有很多其他享用南瓜的方法。但到了万圣节，那些橙色的大南瓜更有可能被摆放在某户人家门廊上，上面还雕刻着人脸，而不是出现在厨房里。

在韩国，南瓜是汤、粥和其他菜肴中常见的食材。我最喜欢的韩国食物之一最终变成了“南瓜粥”，一种浓稠的南瓜粥，在寒冷的冬日里尤其美味。但在1991年10月，我并没有想到南瓜派或南瓜粥。我当时想的是在南瓜上雕刻一张恐怖的脸，然后赢得比赛。

万圣节前一天，学校给各个教室分发了南瓜。我的学生们立刻兴奋起来，尽管他们中的大多数人都不知道该如何处理放在桌子上的这个长相奇特的蔬菜。

1991年10月30日，首尔一家私立英语语言培训机构的学生们正在雕刻南瓜。图片由杰弗里·米勒提供。

我们带着自制的教案和各自国家带来的南瓜雕刻经验，开始向学生们介绍这项传统。毕竟，我们的教师团队中有加拿大人、澳大利亚人、英国人和美国人，他们都对万圣节有所了解，只是程度不同而已。我先介绍了相关词汇，讲解了雕刻南瓜灯的传统，然后演示了如何切掉南瓜顶部，再挖出里面的瓤。

很快，我的学生们围在南瓜旁，就像一群外科医生准备手术一样。他们的手伸进掏空的南瓜里，拿出来时沾满了滑溜溜的橙色丝状物和一把把的南瓜籽。教室里顿时爆发出阵阵笑声，平时用英语交流都小心翼翼的学生们突然变得兴致勃勃，争先恐后。

一位曾是韩国航空空姐的学生笑着把双手插进南瓜里。“我以前在飞机上从来没这么做过，”她说。

她举起一把滴着汁的南瓜瓤。“乘客们或许会不高兴。”

众人哄堂大笑。

1991年10月30日，首尔一家私立英语语言培训机构的学生们正在挖南瓜瓤。图片由杰弗里·米勒提供。

另一位学生迅速接手设计南瓜灯的脸部，勾勒出熟悉的三角形眼睛、三角形鼻子和咧嘴大笑、露出几颗歪牙的笑容。当然，这没什么特别的。它就是一个普通的、常见的南瓜灯，就像你在美国任何一个社区的万圣节之夜都能看到的那种摆在门廊上的南瓜灯。只需要在里面放一根蜡烛，就能让那滑稽的笑容在黑暗中闪闪发光。尽管如此，我们仍然为自己的作品感到自豪，而且每个人都相信我们很有可能赢得比赛。

随着雕刻的进行，南瓜籽和橙色的瓤状物不断堆积在垃圾桶里。学生们一把一把地舀出来，毫不犹豫地扔掉。毕竟，雕刻南瓜灯不就是这么做的吗？把里面的东西掏出来扔掉，然后继续做最重要的事——把南瓜雕刻得吓人。

1991年10月30日，在首尔一家私立英语语言培训机构，一名学生正在南瓜上画脸。图片由杰弗里·米勒提供。

至少我们是这么想的。但清洁女工们却另有打算。

麻烦的第一个迹象是，一个清洁工发现了我们扔掉的东西。她难以置信地盯着垃圾桶，毫不掩饰自己的不满，然后匆匆走下走廊。几分钟后，她带着其他人回来了。又有三个清洁工跟在她后面，她们一起站在教室外面，盯着剩下的南瓜。她们开始兴奋地交谈起来，不时指着垃圾桶，用一种仿佛我们疯了一样的眼神看着我们。

然后，毫无预兆地，他们立即采取了行动。

四个女人围到垃圾桶旁，开始一把一把地抓起南瓜瓤，装进不知从哪儿变出来的塑料袋里。我的学生们停下手里的活，目瞪口呆地看着她们。我站在那里，完全摸不着头脑，不知道这到底是怎么回事。

一名学生转过头来问我：“老师，他们在做什么？”

“我完全不知道，”我坦白道。

很快，人们发现类似的场景在整个学院里都在上演。一间又一间教室里，清洁工们都在拦截即将被扔掉的南瓜残渣。外籍教师试图解释万圣节的习俗，而清洁工们则试图解释这样会浪费掉完全可以食用的食物。双方似乎都不太认同对方的说法。

对我们来说，南瓜瓤是应该扔掉的东西。但对清洁女工来说，扔掉南瓜瓤却是个问题。

接下来发生的事，我们几个人都戏称为“南瓜大对决”。老师和清洁工们兴奋地指指点点，手舞足蹈，试图让大家明白彼此的意思。与此同时，学生们似乎也乐在其中，享受着这场意料之外的娱乐，其乐趣几乎不亚于雕刻南瓜本身。有那么一刻，我甚至怀疑我们是不是该取消这场比赛了。

幸好，一位韩国办公室工作人员介入并帮忙解决了这个问题。解决方案很简单：学生们可以继续雕刻南瓜，清洁工可以收集南瓜瓤，而不是扔掉。皆大欢喜。学生们完成了万圣节活动，老师们得到了南瓜灯，而清洁工们则带着数量惊人的南瓜回家了。

第二天，我们那只看起来很普通的南瓜灯竟然赢得了最恐怖南瓜灯的一等奖。

1991年10月30日，首尔一家私立英语语言培训机构的学生们与雕刻的南瓜灯合影。照片由杰弗里·米勒提供。

现在回想起来，这仍然是我在韩国第一年最美好的回忆之一。当时，这看起来只是一场简单的误会。

多年以后，我才意识到其中的意义远不止于此。这是我最早领悟到的道理之一：文化往往在最细微的瞬间流露出来。外籍教师和学生看着南瓜，想到的是万圣节；而清洁女工们看着同样的南瓜，看到的却是食物。双方都没有错，我们只是用不同的视角看待同一个南瓜而已。

杰弗里·米勒是多部小说的作者。他的最新作品是《板门店之树》，讲述了1976年的斧头杀人事件。您可以通过daejeonscribe@yahoo.com联系他。