I suppose I'm making a bit of a habit of forcing the family to go to a pumpkin patch for my birthday. It's just, well, it's the time of year, I guess. I don't have a thing for pumpkin patches, really. I especially don't have a thing for the sunny, hot pumpkin patches we get in October in November. It's actually quite depressing to me that my birthday is always so shiny and hot here. I long for a crisp chill.
But somehow I endure.
This year the pumpkin adventure started a little slow. I could tell that husband of mine was deeply unimpressed and convinced the whole excursion was destined to be a total flop. First trouble arose when we had to walk past some sort of air cannon game to get from the parking lot to the pumpkins. It was loud, and if there's one thing Grady doesn't like (there are lots, but this is one), it's loud noises. We were on the verge of fussiness all around.
I don't really know, but we turned it around. We explored the not-remotely-quaint grounds and I don't think I'm overstating things here when I say that we made some picturesque autumnal memories. For a long time, Grady would talk about the cow train (he didn't ride it, of course, but we cheered for it and said bye-bye when it left). To this day, he still demands to see pictures of Grady and pumpkins. Because, obviously: