From Friday Mom – Erin:
This past weekend, we took Rory to the pumpkin patch. We got there within the first hour the farm was open and had a fairly quiet hayride out to the patch, where he gleefully picked out his own Rory-sized pumpkin straight from the vine. I may have even captured a few good snapshots to capture the moment (though this week has been too crazy to allow me to download them to check).
Little did we realize that in the 20 minutes we spent out in the pumpkin patch, enjoying nature and the chill in the air of that perfect fall morning, the parking lots had filled to the brim and the market area would be swarming with people by the time we returned from the fields. They came all decked out with Louis Vuitton purses and Gucci sunglasses and with multiple kids in tow wearing perfectly-matched halloween outfits. There were families literally everywhere. Sure, I had made certain my family looked presentable to take some pictures, but the culture shock was astounding. Not to mention, it took us a solid 15 minutes to find a wheelbarrow to hold our pumpkins when we returned. And even then, I had to follow some poor young dad out to his car to even find one that was available.
Part of the problem in living in such a heavily populated metropolitan area is that all of the “country” locations within a reasonable driving distance of downtown are bombarded come fall with families who decide– it’s fall, that means we must go pick apples/pumpkins and pet farm animals. Sure, we are guilty of having the same idea, but as one who embarked on such adventures every year growing up, with far smaller crowds, I couldn’t help but wish that we’d taken Rory a little bit further off the beaten path to the types of orchards and nurseries that his dad and I frequented when we were growing up. I don’t know that my parents ever had to stalk fellow shoppers for a cart for our pumpkins. If they did, I apologize profusely for putting them through that gauntlet. And I am positive I wasn’t shoved by other children while trying to look at goats in the petting zoo. Poor Rory looked at the little girl who brushed him aside in disbelief, as if to say, “excuse me, is there a reason you cannot wait your turn?”
Most of the time, living in an urban area means that we can expose Rory to lots of great cultural things, like museums, shows, and other enriching activities. I know that he will continue to benefit from the rich offerings this area has to offer. But on cool Sunday mornings like this past weekend, I have to admit I long for fewer people, shorter lines, and a much more down-home feel to something as all-american as pumpkin picking. Maybe next time we’ll take him up to his grandparents’ house to experience the real thing. . .