Next week, as Americans come together to celebrate Thanksgiving, most of us will sit down to a familiar scene: roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and that quintessential American favorite, pumpkin pie. But if you could step back a century or two, you might be surprised by what those early pies looked like—and what kind of “pumpkin” went into them. The truth is, early America’s pie pumpkins came in all shapes and sizes: some were long and curved like a swan’s neck, others pale buff or slate blue, and a few didn’t even belong to the same species we call pumpkin today.
This story brings together three of my favorite things—gardening, history, and pumpkin pie—to explore five heirlooms that prove early America’s pumpkins were not what you’d expect.
History of Pumpkin Pie
When Amelia Simmons sat down in 1796 to write her recipe for “Pompkin Pudding”—one of the first to describe the smooth, custard-filled pie we know today—she probably wasn’t gazing at a bright orange jack-o’-lantern. The pumpkins of her kitchen were more likely long-necked or flattened heirlooms, tan or buff in color, the kind early cooks favored for their fine-textured flesh.
For much of our early history, those big orange field pumpkins were grown as much for livestock as for people. They were easy to raise, excellent winter feed, and cheap insurance against a bad grain harvest. When cooks did bake with pumpkin, they reached instead for the refined types—the Pennsylvania Dutch crookneck, the Long Island Cheese, and other regional favorites chosen for flavor rather than size.
As America grew, so did the meaning of its pumpkins. By the mid-1800s, pumpkin pie had become closely tied to New England identity—a humble, homespun dish that abolitionists adopted as a symbol of northern virtue and self-reliance. Writers of the era contrasted the sturdy northern pumpkin farm with the plantation economy of the South, turning a simple pie into a moral emblem. And when President Lincoln, urged by several prominent women reformers, declared Thanksgiving a national holiday in 1863, the pumpkin—by then a symbol of the northern harvest—took its place at the center of the table.
Like the nation itself, pumpkin pie carried many meanings at once: sustenance, morality, and cultural identity. Today, we can simply enjoy it for what it is—a dish that unites diverse regions and histories in one familiar slice.
Five Pumpkins, One Tradition
In his proclamation, published October 3rd, 1863 in newspapers across the nation, President Lincoln noted that despite the ongoing civil war, miraculous blessings had been bestowed on the nation—despite our vulnerability, peace had been preserved with all nations, order had been maintained and laws respected in our communities, fields continued to be worked and mines continued to bear. This had not been accomplished by the works of any mortal, in his own words:
"They are gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and voice by the whole American people." —Abraham Lincoln Oct 3, 1863
That last part—“with one heart and voice by the whole American people”—really speaks to me. In the midst of such a painful and divided time, the image of American housewives coming together, each in her own kitchen, with her own pumpkin, feels profoundly moving. They might have spoken differently, cooked from different traditions, and baked with pumpkins that looked nothing alike, yet their tables told the same story—one of gratitude, provision, and home.
The pumpkins themselves reflected that diversity: blue-gray in New England, cheese-shaped on Long Island, long-necked in Pennsylvania, green-striped in the South, and buff-colored in the Midwest. Each region contributed its own variety to the same national feast, proving that Thanksgiving was never about uniformity but about abundance shared.
Here are five heirlooms that remind us of that truth—five pumpkins, one tradition.
New England Blue Hubbard
Introduced 1854 – Marblehead, Massachusetts
No pumpkin better embodies New England thrift and ingenuity than the Blue Hubbard. First introduced by seedsman James J. H. Gregory of Marblehead, Massachusetts, this hefty, slate-blue squash was said to have originated from a neighbor’s seed — a Mrs. Elizabeth Hubbard, who shared it with Gregory in the early 1840s. He was so impressed by its sweetness, dryness, and keeping quality that he began selling it through his seed catalog a decade later, in 1854.
With its thick, fine-grained flesh and rugged shell, the Blue Hubbard became the backbone of the northern winter pantry. Families stored them on cellar shelves all through the cold months, slicing off pieces as needed for pies, breads, and soups. Its enormous fruits, often weighing more than twenty pounds, were as practical as they were beautiful — a single squash could feed a household for a week.
Even today, gardeners prize the Hubbard for its dense, honeyed flesh and legendary storage life. With its slate-blue skin and rugged shell, it remains a symbol of New England practicality—beautiful in its simplicity, generous in yield, and reliable year after year.
Long Island Cheese Pumpkin
In circulation by the early 1800s – New York
Round as a cheese wheel and smooth as pottery, the Long Island Cheese Pumpkin is one of America’s oldest named varieties. It earned its name not from flavor, but from its shape—a flattened, buff-colored globe that looks remarkably like a wheel of farmhouse cheese. In 1863, horticulturist Fearing Burr Jr. formally described it in Field and Garden Vegetables of America, calling it “fine-grained, sweet and well-flavored... much superior in all respects to most of the field-grown sorts.”
Already widely circulated at the time of the American Revolution, the pumpkin found a loyal following among Long Island farmers who shipped the pumpkins to nearby city markets, where they were prized for their rich flavor and long storage life. They became the quintessential “cheese pumpkin” of the eastern seaboard—a pie squash that kept through winter and could be turned into everything from custards to soups.
After nearly disappearing in the mid-20th century, the variety has been rescued by seed savers and small farms on the East Coast. Today, its velvety flesh and understated beauty have brought it back into favor with chefs and gardeners alike. Like many heirlooms, it asks for little and gives generously—a reminder of the simple virtues that built the Thanksgiving table.
Pennsylvania Dutch Crookneck (Neck Pumpkin)
Late 1700s – Pennsylvania Dutch Country
Long before the pumpkin pie became a national tradition, the Pennsylvania Dutch were perfecting their own version with this elegant, swan-necked squash. The Neck Pumpkin, as it’s now called, traces its roots to the farmsteads of southeastern Pennsylvania, where German-speaking immigrants selected it for its sweet, fine-grained flesh and remarkable keeping quality.
Unlike the round, orange pumpkins that came later, this heirloom belongs to Cucurbita moschata—the same species as butternut squash—and its long, solid neck is almost entirely flesh. The result is a smooth, custardy texture that early cooks preferred for pies, puddings, and the region’s signature pumpkin “butter.”
By 1845, records from the Shaker Seed Company of Mount Lebanon, New York list “Winter Crookneck Squash” among their seed crops, suggesting that long-necked moschatas like this one were already being grown and traded well beyond Pennsylvania. In time, it became known simply as the “Neck Pumpkin,” a beloved staple across the Mid-Atlantic and one of the last true links to the pumpkins of America’s earliest kitchens.
Today, its tan skin and graceful shape still stand out in the garden. The flavor is richer than most pumpkins—earthy and sweet without a trace of stringiness—and it bakes into a pie that tastes like history itself.
Green Striped Cushaw
Pre-1700s – Indigenous and Southern Heirloom
With its long, curved neck and green-and-white stripes, the Green Striped Cushaw looks more like something from a folk painting than a grocery bin. Yet this striking squash is among America’s oldest cultivated pumpkins—grown by Indigenous peoples across the South and lower Mississippi Valley long before European settlement.
Botanically distinct from other pie pumpkins, the cushaw belongs to Cucurbita argyrosperma (formerly C. mixta), a species known for its heat tolerance and resilience in poor soils. Early settlers quickly adopted it, especially in the South, where humid summers made other pumpkins unreliable. Its mild, sweet flesh found its way into pies, breads, and the region’s distinctive “cushaw butter,” a spiced preserve much like apple butter.
By the 1800s, the cushaw had become a southern staple—valued for its flavor and its endurance through drought and insects. Old seed catalogs listed it simply as “Green-Striped Cushaw” or “Southern Pie Pumpkin,” and its seed was often saved from year to year, passed along between neighbors like family recipes.
Today, it endures as one of the South’s great heirloom treasures: a generous, forgiving plant that rewards even the casual gardener with heavy yields and long-keeping fruit. And when baked into a pie, its flesh takes on a silky texture and gentle sweetness that prove once again—America’s pie pumpkins have always worn many colors.
Dickinson Pumpkin
Mid-1800s – Illinois
While many heirlooms lingered in home gardens, the Dickinson Pumpkin went on to shape a national industry. First grown in Illinois in the mid-1800s, this tan, oblong Cucurbita moschata was selected for exactly the qualities pie bakers loved: dry, dense flesh, fine texture, and rich, natural sweetness. It quickly became a favorite among Midwestern farmers supplying nearby canneries.
By the early 1900s, the Libby canning company adopted the Dickinson as its standard pie pumpkin—a choice that would cement its legacy for generations. Though few home gardeners recognize it by name, almost every slice of canned pumpkin pie in America still begins with this old Illinois heirloom.
The fruits resemble a larger, elongated cheese pumpkin—pale tan skin, deep orange flesh, and a flavor that needs little sugar to shine. More than a century later, it remains proof that the same traits early cooks prized—sweetness, silkiness, and staying power—still define what we think of as “pumpkin pie.”
Final Thoughts
When Lincoln urged Americans to give thanks “with one heart and one voice,” he couldn’t have imagined how those words would echo through something as simple—and enduring—as a holiday pie. Yet that’s exactly what happened. In kitchens across the country, families did the same humble thing: split open a pumpkin, stirred in milk and spice, and baked a little comfort into a troubled world.
The pumpkins that shaped those early tables—Blue Hubbard, Pennsylvania Dutch, Green Striped Cushaw, Long Island Cheese, and Dickinson—are still with us today. They’ve traveled through generations, slipping in and out of fashion, but never disappearing from the gardens of those who knew their worth.
That’s the quiet power of these heirlooms: they’re more than ingredients. They’re continuity. When you choose one for your Thanksgiving pie, you’re joining a long tradition of American cooks who relied on these very pumpkins to feed their families and sweeten the season.
However you celebrate, may your kitchen be warm, your pie richly spiced, and your table filled with the kind of gratitude that endures—just like the pumpkins that brought us here.
Want to grow some history yourself? Check out our full selection of heirloom squash seeds to find all of the varieties listed here—and many more.
