My mom loves fall. She says it is her favorite holiday. We often correct her that fall is not a holiday, but a season but she just loves it so much. Many years we don’t have Christmas lights on the house. However, every year we have pumpkins, corn stalks, and piles of hay in the yard. To celebrate Fall, we have a very special, sacred tradition: every year Mom makes us go pumpkin picking. We complain, say fall isn’t a real holiday. It’s too cold, too rainy, too silly. Mom just smiles and says we are going.
As always, this past weekend Jenna and I (Donny was “stuck” at school) got into the car and drove into Wisconsin to the Squire’s farm. We park the car next to a patch and fill the trunk up with literally as many pumpkins as it can fit. Without fail Mom walks to the farthest point from the car where she finds the perfect pumpkin. Usually the perfect pumpkin is large and heavy. So she labels it to be picked up by her children.
On the way home we always stop at an apple orchard to get cider and caramel covered apples. Fantastic. Once we are home, we unload the fifty pumpkins and place them around the yard in accordance with my Mom’s vision. After all the hard work, we relax and enjoy our cider and my mom’s famous stuffed peppers.
Though we whine and complain, we love making my mom happy and the day is always filled with memories and laughs.
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