I look forward to nothing more than going to pick pumpkins in the fall. Cool, crisp air, sweaters, jeans and boots. It's the all-encompassing fall activity. What excites me more is that I get to tote along with me my four-month old for her first pumpkin picking experience.
I fondly remember going to the pumpkin patch each year. My aunt, uncle and cousins would arrive at our house from the city and we would all pile in my uncle's little Toyota and head out east to Smith's Farm. After what seemed like an interminable ride of 30 minutes we exploded out of the car running this way and that while the adults yelled after us. We begged to take the hayride which takes you to the pumpkin patch, skipping the fresh fruit, vegetables and jams that were for sale. We didn't even care about the haunted house (until after the pumpkins of course - there's a method to these things you know).
My aunt always wandered into the barns to buy lots of veggies and jams to bring back to the city with her. Really though I think it was to fulfill her shopping addiction and so as not to mess up her hair on the hayride. ("My hay-a, my hay-a I can hear her saying in her thick New York accent). Ah those were the days...
But back to today's voyage for pumpkins to Larriland Farm. We plan to leave between feedings so as not to destroy the baby's schedule. You know the one I spent all week perfecting. The one that gets thrown out the window by my husband each weekend because he is clueless of our daily wanderings.
We arrived at the pumpkin patch two hours after we planned. "Someone" decided that after months of sleeping through the night it would be a good idea to keep waking up all night.
Despite little sleep and a late arrival we trudged on. The "patch" was our first stop. Luckily, it wasn't too crowded and the nice people at Larriland Farm had a bunch of wheelbarrows on hand for the big loads. We didn't need one of those though. My husband sported the ever manly Baby Bjorn and insisted that with two free hands three pumpkins would be "no problem!" 
We scoured the fields laden with pumpkins of every kind - smooth round ones, small green ones, big warty ones and of course the rotten ones. Slightly overcast with a chilly breeze made me glad I'd worn my thick sweater. I proudly walked the fields with my new family as eager and excited as the little kids. We stopped a few times for the signature pumpkin patch family shots - me with the baby and the pumpkins, my husband with the baby and the pumpkins, all of us with the pumpkins- you get the idea. (And yes I pre-planned our outfits so we'd coordinate for the pictures. I know, a little psycho, but don't you read those blogs where everything looks professional and coordinated? How am I supposed to compete with that in my usual VS yoga pants and oversized tee?? Answer me that friends)
I find mine first. A smooth, round, almost yellow color with no flaws or blemishes. Meanwhile my husband discovers a small half green and orange one with bumps, ridges and warts. Then I realize these pumpkins are representations of us as people. I'm super organized, I like clean lines and modern furniture. He is disorganized, not scared of a few bumps in the road and enjoys the natural beauty of things. My daughter's pumpkin is the perfect combination of us both- a small pumpkin, round and mostly smooth with a few ridges.
We slowly wander back to the register and snag a family photo from a nice grandma with her grandchildren.
We drive over to the
apple orchard next. By this time it is infinitely more crowded than when we arrived but we find a parking spot and head into the brush.
I can't eat apples because I'm allergic, but I haven't always been so. I "grew into" this allergy my doctor tells me. What is this a pair of pants? Like a baby grows into her head? So traipsing through the orchard staring at the shiny red apples on a beautiful fall day might as well be Chinese water torture. I know how good those apples taste, but one bite and I'll be epi-penning it to the hospital. Sigh. I begrudgingly help my husband pick gorgeous apples as he commits the ultimate sin. He shines one up on his pants, bites in and sighs in tastebud happiness. Kill me now! 
My daughter is being surprisingly great so we decide to stop for lunch at the barn. We grab three hot dogs, two drinks and a large fry to split. We set out our blanket under the shade of a large oak tree, sitting lazily as the baby coos, and people wander happily around us carrying apples, pumpkins, fritters and cider.
After lunch we wander through the barn where you can buy a plethora of fresh veggies, pumpkins, jams, cider and butters. This is the lazy man's way to pumpkin pick if you ask me but it's America I guess. The man in front of us was alone and bought two pumpkins. He must've felt me thinking "how sad, he's here by himself." because he offered up that last week he was here with his fam and over the weekend those ever elusive neighborhood hooligans smashed his kids' pumpkins. He was here to get them new ones. What a great guy!
What a relaxing day. And that my friends, is worth a glass of champagne!
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