My favorite autumn vista, other than a blaze of maples, is a field full of orange pumpkins in late afternoon light. Less pleasing, unfortunately, is their conversion to pie. In a lifetime of Thanksgiving dinners, and despite a healthy dessert appetite, I’ve yet to meet a slice of pumpkin pie that I wanted to finish. Inevitably, this fixture of the holiday table makes me long for a slice of my late mother’s multi-variety apple pie, full of the texture and flavor of rough-cut fruit wedges. My problem with that delectable was trying not to eat too much.

When I mentioned my aversion to pumpkin pie to upstate heirloom farmer Amy Goldman — who has written about growing pumpkins, and was recently profiled on these pages — she had nothing kind to say about the standard American field pumpkin, which shines only as a jack-o’-lantern. “You should try using an heirloom pumpkin variety called Winter Luxury Pie,” Ms. Goldman counseled. “It’s the supreme pie maker.”

But the Winter Lux proved to be elusive. Even the Union Square Greenmarket, in full autumn harvest mode, couldn’t supply one. I reached out to Ms. Goldman, and she referred me to Bryan Connolly, a farmer and researcher in the old varieties, in Mansfield, Conn., 120 miles from New York City.

“I’ve got a few left,” Mr. Connolly told me. “Come on up.”

When I visited him one day last week, nearly every spare spot in Mr. Connolly’s modest home — even the bookcases — was stocked with squashes (a pumpkin is a winter squash) in myriad shapes and rich colors. Their names, as Mr. Connolly reeled them off, were unfamiliar: Blue Ballet, North Georgia Candy Roaster, Jaspée de Vendée, Anna Swartz Hubbard, and Gill’s Golden Pippin. The Winter Lux, a variety bred to its current form by Gill Brothers Seed Company in Portland, Ore., and introduced in 1917, turned out to be a paler yellow-gold than standard pumpkins. While its ribs are not prominent, its curved stem is oversize and leathery. The pumpkin’s surface is etched with refined white netting, giving it a pleasing sheen. Mr. Connolly explained that he’d used seeds from two sources to “increase the vigor” of his Winter Lux plantings, but this pumpkin doesn’t normally get bigger than 10 pounds.

It was a surprise, back in my kitchen, to cut off the crown of a Winter Lux and discover that the tangle of stringy glop to be found in the cavity of standard pumpkins was absent. This was clean and meaty. Baked whole in the oven until it began to sag and flatten, the Winter Lux filled the house with a rich aroma. Mr. Connolly compares it to the scent of a burbling pot of basmati rice. From the “The Joy of Cooking,” my wife made a crunchy pâte sucré crust, which is richer and more cookie-like than regular pie crust. The filling, which involved blending Winter Lux, brown and white sugar, eggs, milk, and a bit of cream seasoned with cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger, was adapted from Mark Bittman’s “How To Cook Everything.”

I’d guessed that Winter Lux pie might turn out to taste like sweet potato pie, but it had its own distinctive taste and texture: light-bodied and lively, with a whisper of toffee to its sprightly flavor. No whipped cream was needed. For the first time, I cleaned my plate. And that was after the second slice. At last, a pumpkin pie that will come to my Thanksgiving table out of pride rather than duty.

Among seed sources for Winter Lux is Fedco Seeds (fedcoseeds.com), a cooperative in Waterville, Maine, specializing in varieties adapted to northeast growing conditions. Mr. Connolly is supplying Winter Lux seeds to Fedco for next year’s crop ($1.40 for an eighth of an ounce).

Winter Lux arent’t difficult to grow, Mr. Connolly said. “But I do have them out of the field earlier than jack-o’-lanterns because the deer go for them.”

No dummies, those deer.