Meet Me at the Pumpkins

I have a confession to make: I don’t really like the color pumpkin orange.

It has never been a color I gravitate toward when I’m designing. But there is something about seeing hundreds of pumpkins together, the different shapes, sizes, colors, textures, and imperfections, that completely changes it for me. Suddenly, a color I would probably never choose on its own becomes something pretty incredible.

I’ve always loved a little spectacle.

I love design that makes you stop. Something a little unexpected, maybe a little over the top, that makes you look twice. And I have never really understood doing something halfway. Why put out a few pumpkins when you can cover the front of the House in hundreds of them?

And while the finished product is what everyone gets to see, the process of creating it has become one of my favorite parts.

It starts at Taft Farms.

We go out to the farm and meet with <3 Penny, and then we start picking. And I really mean picking. We walk through looking for the pumpkins and gourds that are a little different, the strange shapes, the long stems, the ones with bumps and curves, the ones that are almost white or green or some color you can't quite describe. I want the really beautiful ones, of course, but I also want the weird ones.

Actually, I especially want the weird ones.

Because when you put them all together, those differences are what make the whole thing work. I don't want hundreds of identical orange pumpkins lined up perfectly. I want it to feel abundant and collected and a little wild.

Once we’ve picked everything out, Taft Farms delivers them to the House.

And then comes my part.

I place every single pumpkin and gourd myself.

Yes. Every single one.

There isn't really a formula for it. I start with all the hay, then the larger pumpkins and build from there. I look at where I want your eye to go, where we need height, where we need something strange, where a certain color needs to repeat, and where it feels like there is a hole that needs to be filled.

One goes down. Then another. Then another.

And inevitably, the pumpkin I placed twenty minutes ago suddenly needs to move because the pumpkin I just put down has changed everything.

It is a little insane.

But I love it.

Because for me, that is design. It’s not just having the idea of “let’s put pumpkins outside.” It is thinking about how someone will see the House from the road, how the display moves up the hill, how the colors work against the building, where someone might naturally want to stand for a photograph, and how all of these completely imperfect individual things can come together to create one really beautiful moment.

And then, after all of that arranging and rearranging, something even better happens.

People start showing up.

That is actually my favorite part of the pumpkins.

I love looking out the window and seeing someone stop in the middle of their walk because they noticed the House. I love watching families come up the hill to take a picture. Kids start picking out their favorites. Dogs get reluctantly positioned for photos. Someone who probably had no intention of stopping suddenly spends ten minutes out front trying to get the perfect shot.

There is something incredibly satisfying about standing inside the House and watching people enjoy something that, just a few days earlier, existed only as an idea in my head.

That, to me, is what design is supposed to do.

Design has always been a huge part of how I see the world, and being at Doctor Sax has made me think about it differently. I don’t think design and hospitality are separate things. The way a place looks is part of how it welcomes you.

Your experience of a place starts before anyone opens the door or says hello. It starts with what catches your eye from across the street. It’s the music you hear when you walk in, the lighting, the flowers, the glass your drink arrives in, the way a table is set or the ridiculous number of pumpkins spilling down the front lawn.

All of those things tell you something about where you are.

Doctor Sax sits right at the beginning of downtown Lenox, and I think about that a lot. For people walking into town, we get to be one of the first things they see. I want the House to contribute something to that experience. I want it to feel alive. I want there to always be something that makes you curious about what is happening here.

And this time of year, I want the pumpkins to feel like a giant welcome.

Welcome to Doctor Sax. Welcome to Lenox. Welcome to fall in the Berkshires.

There’s a personal side to all of this for me, too.

My role at Doctor Sax has grown to include a little bit of everything. On any given day, I can go from hotel operations to restaurant service to staffing to events to spreadsheets to answering emails. I love that no two days here look exactly the same, but I’ve also realized how important it is for me to keep creating.

I need to make things.

One of the things I love most about Doctor Sax is having the opportunity to look at this House and ask, What else could this be?

What can we do that feels different? What can we make more beautiful? What would be fun? What would make someone want to come inside? What would make someone remember being here?

Sometimes that becomes a dinner or an event. Sometimes it’s a room, a menu, a table setting, or some tiny detail that probably no one will ever know I spent far too much time thinking about.

And sometimes it becomes an unreasonable number of pumpkins.

There is nothing better than having an idea in my head, figuring out how to actually make it happen, and then watching people experience it.

You actually use it.

You take pictures with it. You bring your kids. You bring your dogs. You tag us. You stop on your way through town. You come back with someone else because you want to show them.

And every time I see someone standing out front taking a picture, it reminds me why Kelly and I spent hours at Taft Farms choosing gourds and then even more hours moving pumpkins out. 

It makes the House feel like it belongs to more than just the people staying or dining here. For a moment, it becomes part of someone’s walk through Lenox, their weekend in the Berkshires, their family photo, or just something that made them smile that day.

I think hospitality businesses have a responsibility to add something to the places they call home. Yes, we want you to stay with us and eat with us. But I also want Doctor Sax to contribute to Lenox to make our little corner of town more beautiful, more interesting, more fun, and maybe occasionally a little ridiculous.

So this fall, come see the pumpkins.

Take the photo. Bring the kids. Bring the dog. Tag us so we can see it. Come inside for aperitivo or dinner.

And if you happen to see me outside moving a pumpkin three inches to the left because I’ve decided it has been bothering me all day, feel free to say hello.

Because yes, I really did place every single one.

And yes, I will notice if one has moved.

Happy Fall,

Anthony