“My thumbs won’t center the clay anymore. That’s the worst thing that’s happened to me in 44 years at the wheel.” — Why a 73-year-old Hudson Valley potter is selling her last pumpkin soup bowls at a special price, before her hands give out for good.

On Thanksgiving afternoon, Wilma Hagedorn waits until everyone is sitting down. Then she nods. Thirty-one people lift thirty-one little green stems at the same time. Thirty-one orange lids come up. And the whole room smells of pumpkin soup.

She made every one of those bowls herself. Over 44 years, she has made about 4,600 of them. In her town, it is hard to find a kitchen without one.

Wilma is 73. She lives in Germantown, New York, a small apple and pumpkin town in the Hudson Valley, two hours north of Manhattan. Her table started with 12 chairs. Now it has her children, seven grandchildren, the neighbors, and the mailman.

“Whoever is alone on Thanksgiving comes to Wilma’s. That’s been the rule since before I had gray hair.”

The pumpkin that gave way on Grandma’s tablecloth

It started with her grandmother Ilse. Every Thanksgiving, Ilse served her pumpkin soup the old-fashioned way: inside a real pumpkin, hollowed out and baked.

In 1980, the pumpkin gave way in the middle of the table. The soup ran across Ilse’s good white tablecloth. Wilma was 27 and taking a pottery class at the time. She looked at her grandmother’s face and made her a promise.

“I told her, Grandma, I’ll make you a pumpkin that holds. It took me two years.”

On Thanksgiving 1982, there were 12 clay pumpkin bowls on Ilse’s table. Wilma pressed the ribs into each one with the handle of Ilse’s old soup spoon. She still uses that same spoon today.

The milk room where 4,600 pumpkins were born

Her studio is the old milk room of a barn built in 1890. It is 22 by 18 feet. There is a woodstove, one potter’s wheel, and long wooden boards on the walls. Every October, those boards turn orange.

It smells of wet clay and woodsmoke. Outside the window is the neighbor’s pumpkin field. Wilma presses a rib into a fresh bowl and doesn’t look up.

“Eight ribs. A real pumpkin never has exactly eight. But a bowl should.”

One bowl takes her about three hours of work, spread over nine days. She throws it on the wheel, trims it, presses the ribs, fits the lid, rolls the little stem by hand, and lets it dry. Then it goes into the kiln twice.

What 44 Thanksgivings taught her about a soup bowl

People who order one of Wilma’s bowls sometimes write the same thing: “It’s smaller than I expected.” Wilma laughs when she hears it. It was never an accident.

• “The Grace-Length Lid”: The lid sits snug on the bowl and keeps the steam inside. “The soup is still hot after grace,” Wilma says. “Even when my son-in-law says it.”
• “The First-Course Measure”: Each bowl holds 14 ounces. That is one good serving of soup or chili. “Nobody should fill up on soup before the turkey.”
• “The Eight-Rib Grip”: The pressed ribs and two small handles give your fingers something to hold. “My grandchildren have carried them since they were four. Not one has ever dropped.”
• “The Stem Handle”: You lift the lid by the green stem, never by the hot rim. And when the lid goes back on, the soup stays warm for a second helping.

The bowl her granddaughter carries home every year

Every Thanksgiving, when the dishes are done, the grandchildren argue about who gets to carry the bowls back to the barn. The youngest one, Wilma says, walks like she is carrying the crown jewels.

Her granddaughter Bryn took one bowl with her when she moved to Albany. She eats her oatmeal out of it every morning, all year long.

“She sends me a picture of it every Thanksgiving. Same bowl. Different apartment.”

The morning her thumbs said no

What Wilma will miss most are the early October mornings. The fire in the woodstove. The hum of the wheel. The first orange bowl of the year coming out of the kiln.

But to make a bowl, you first have to center two pounds of clay on the wheel. That takes your full weight, pushed through both thumbs. Wilma has arthritis in both of them now.

“I can still press the ribs. I can’t center the clay. And without that, there is no bowl.”

This spring, her hand doctor in Kingston was honest with her. Surgery might help her hold a coffee cup again. It won’t give her back the wheel. So this October, Wilma made her last bowls. 212 pumpkin bowls are left on the boards in the milk room. When they are gone, there will be no more.

“A bowl on a shelf is just a dust catcher”

At the big craft fair in Rhinebeck, Wilma used to get $85 for one bowl. People lined up for them. For her last 212, she could easily ask the same. She won’t.

“I don’t want them in a glass cabinet. I want them on a table, with hot soup in them and people around them.”

She has one wish for this year. That her last bowls get to a few more Thanksgiving tables before November 26th.

Wilma has never used a computer. Last Thanksgiving, Bryn noticed her grandmother needed both hands to hold the coffee pot. That evening, she took photos of the boards in the milk room and set up the small online shop where you can order now. Bryn packs every box herself.

“Bryn does the computer. I sign the little cards. That’s our deal.”

What families say about Wilma’s pumpkin bowls

• ★★★★★

  “I bought six for Thanksgiving. When everyone lifted the lids at the same time, my 90-year-old father actually clapped. The soup was still hot after he finished his very long grace.”

  Deborah M., Saratoga Springs, NY
• ★★★★★

  “They are smaller than a cereal bowl, and that is exactly right. A cup and a half of soup, and everyone still had room for the turkey.”

  Susan T., Stamford, CT
• ★★★★★

  “Arrived wrapped like it was going to the moon. Not a single chip. That deep orange is even prettier in person.”

  Karen B., Allentown, PA

Three questions people ask before ordering

Where can I buy one of Wilma’s pumpkin bowls?

Only through this page. Wilma’s bowls are not sold on Amazon, Temu or in any store.

How long will they be available?

Only while supplies last. Wilma has made her last bowls, and there are 212 left. Once they are gone, they are gone for good.

What if it’s not right for me?

You have 30 days to try it at home. If you are not happy, just send a short email and you will get your money back. No questions, no hassle.

More from people who lifted the lid

• ★★★★★

  “Good heavy ceramic, not that thin stuff. The little handles make it easy to carry even with my arthritis.”

  Joan W., Poughkeepsie, NY
• ★★★★★

  “Ordered two for my grandkids. Now they only eat their mac and cheese if it comes ‘out of the pumpkin.’ I went back for two more.”

  Nancy R., Morristown, NJ
• ★★★★★

  “My grandmother served soup in a real pumpkin too. When I read Wilma’s story I ordered right away. It’s on my table every Sunday now, not just in November.”

  Ellen F., Burlington, VT