Wordless Wednesday: At the pumpkin patch, my happy place







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My growingly alarming pumpkin obsession

My Friday off — also to be known forevermore as the day my pumpkin obsession reached a fever pitch . . . and a point of no return. If I’d gotten over to Starbucks for my pumpkin spice latte, I think I would have had to enter gourd rehab. Instead, I got this early this morning, having breakfast with my sister and grandparents at Einstein’s:

A pumpkin bagel with pumpkin cream cheese! Now, if that doesn’t cure your pumpkin hankering . . . nothing can.

After I got my haircut (yay!), we came back home to take our family holiday photo and regroup. Then it was off to the pumpkin patch! Earlier in the month, I fretted over the possibility that it wouldn’t open this year — the first year in my recollection that we wouldn’t be able to gather up our favorite orange gourds. Well, rest assured — the stand is open, we got the pumpkins — and now all that’s left is to carve those babies.

Then we followed it all up with a little of my grandmother’s homemade pumpkin and cranberry bread. I only wish I were kidding.

And I’m wearing an orange sweater today!

Another delightful, pumpkin-filled afternoon! And once Halloween is over, I’ll still have Thanksgiving to look forward to . . . all those pumpkin pies . . .

Getting my pumpkin hopes up

I got really excited for a few seconds this weekend when I thought I saw our favorite pumpkin stand on Route 5 had gone up! It’s too soon, of course — and there was nothing there but an old, crumbling building and an empty pick-up truck. But I’m slightly concerned because, after picking out our prized gourds last October, the woman working at our stand told my dad she wasn’t sure they would be continuing to sell on Route 5 anymore. I think she said her father, who technically owns the operation, was getting older and wasn’t able to keep up with it.

But what will I do without my pumpkin patch?! My mother has photos of my sister and I toddling along as children, pointing to the pumpkin we wanted so my dad could haul it off to the back of the van. We have the same pictures year after year — all of us standing in front of a scarecrow or witch or bale of hay. We pick out the gourds, then listen as they rattle around in the backseat on our way home . . . then pick a quiet evening, scoop out the “guts” and decide whether to make our pumpkin faces “scary” or “pretty.” In later years, as we’ve gotten busier and busier and somehow couldn’t find time to actually carve them, we’ve painted them with glitter. They’re always displayed at a place of prominence on the kitchen table or the bar.

A fall without my Route 5 pumpkin patch? Insanity! Unfathomable. The world will have gone mad! Here’s hoping it really does appear sometime soon . . .