It seemed promising enough: a gorgeous fall Saturday, the whole family happy and well-rested (the three of us slept in until 10:45 this morning!!), a full tank of gas and a map to that treasure trove of autumnal fun, the orchard-slash-pumpkin patch. I was envisioning rows upon rows of brilliant-hued gourds, perhaps a few specialty varieties (cinderella or ghost to name a couple), a little cup of fresh cider and a donut, the occasional horse-drawn wagon passing by filled with rosy-cheeked hayriders. . . well, not so much. . . try a picked-over field overrun with families fighting over the last few nonmoldy specimens and bags of honeycrisp apples at $10 apiece. I actually snapped a picture of the best looking pumpkin there, but that's only because it was already claimed by another family. Even if we had seen it first, it would have seemed a shame to actually buy the thing, considering all my kid wanted to do was run around and stamp on rotten pumpkins. May as well save the good ones for the kids who actually care.
The perfect pumpkin So many pumpkins to stomp, so little time . . .
If I sound bitter about the whole experience, I really don't mean to. Actually it was a really fun Saturday despite the pumpkin fiasco. Ivo didn't know any better, anyway. He's just getting the hang of this kind of thing, as illustrated in the picture below.
Yeah, that's the idea . . . sort of . . .