Last week, Hubby surprised us with the news that he had heard about a pumpkin farm mere miles from where we live.
“What? Really?” Aspie D and I asked incredulously.
So guess what we did at the weekend?
With the sun shining its afternoon warmth through what had started off as a crisp, misty Sunday morning, we drove along country roads until we found this sign ~
Not a sign beckoning us to The Pumpkin Farm in Paso Robles, California, but to a farm in a tiny village in Dorset in the West Country of England.
And there they were, pumpkins galore ~
A small gathering of giggling children crunched their way through the pumpkin patch, but I think we were the biggest kids there. Hubby had never been to a pumpkin patch before and I smiled as I watched him and Aspie D hunt for ‘the one’.
But there weren’t only pumpkins at the farm:
And of course we had to pose:
But look what else – reindeer!
The reindeer – who live on the farm – are young, still with ‘baby’ fur on their antlers. During the build up to Christmas they accompany Santa, bedecked in sleigh bells and reindeer Christmas finery.
Because you see, not only are pumpkins grown at this farm, but so are Christmas trees. For every one cut down, five more are planted. Nordman Fir and Spruce. I think I know where we’ll be as soon as we can, tagging our tree. Just like old times.
New adventures beckon: I thought my days of visiting pumpkin farms belonged to the past. But in this Happy Place, memories of my life with my children in California collided with an afternoon of joy and laughter with Hubby and my grown daughter, as the autumn sunshine smiled down on a village in West Country England.
Some adventures bring repercussions: while Charli was away enjoying her homecoming with her husband’s family at ‘Wolf Ranch’ in Nevada, somebody came by her own ranch in Idaho and raided her apple tree, stealing every single one. She laments the loss of all she had planned to make and bake with her apples, but takes her experience to give us this week’s flash fiction prompt:
‘In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a thief or a theft. Consider motives and repercussions. Is the act a matter of perception? Is it a daring maneuver or a desperate bid for survival? Think about different instances of stealing.’
Stealing is no laughing matter: I wish I could magic back all of Charli’s apples, but I can’t. So I wrote a flash continuing on with the adventures of Ethel and Fred, The Clueless Werewolf, instead:
Fred peeped out from behind the hedge as soon as the upstairs light went out.
Starkers and desperate, he ran for it, grabbing the first thing he felt hanging on the washing line.
A dog barked and the bedroom light snapped back on.
“Oy…’oose there?” Old Mr Cooper called out.
“Look, there it goes!” screamed Old Mrs Cooper.
“Bleedin’ peepin’ Tom, I’ll ‘ave ‘im!”
A shot rang out.
Rumours abounded of a creepy man wearing Old Mrs Cooper’s white nightie terrorising the neighbourhood.
Ethel cackled, relieved that the next full moon was still a full month away.