“When the Frost is on the Punkin”  is the first line of a poem by James Whitcomb Riley, and it came to mind when I walked past Connie and Charles’ autumn display. I saw frost on the mulch, NOT the pumpkins. To my surprise, I saw the white blush on the photo. Too often I take a picture and find what I wanted to show does not appear at all. The temperature was 35F (1.67C) when I went out to walk.  We had a frost, not a hard freeze, so the plants have not keeled over yet.