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11:13 p.m. - 2006-10-22 Hot Cider, Haunted Pumpkins and Hope of GrandchildrenI rolled my eyes when Mike got up unexpectantly early Saturday morning and announced that we were going to go get our pumpkin. Not only were we going to get a pumpkin, we had to get it at one of those pumpkin farms that have a petting zoo, hot cider and brownies for sale. This is an activity Mike has enjoyed ever since we first took our young daughter to fall festivals, petting zoos, harvest fests, and other activities hosted by various park districts and pumpkin farms. Michelle outgrew these activities 18 years ago but her father never did, so every year, we become the only middle aged, childless couple gleefully attending these family activities. I have to admit. It is fun to get out there with a crowd of other people and pick the best pumpkin you can find, in our case a behemoth, 2 feet in diameter. Some of those giant pumpkins remind me of hideously fat people, with their pale orange flesh sagging toward the ground where they lay too heavy to be moved. Like the hideous obese people they remind me of, most are not attractive, but we were able to find a fairly buff looking hulk with a nice rich color, deeply grooved, it�s character standing out from the others shouting �pick me�pick me�. Wrestling him into the cart and then into and out of the car where we propped him on our porch was a tremendous job for these two out of shape 50 somethings, one with a damaged heart on the verge of knee replacement surgery. The first thing we headed for when we arrived at the pumpkin farm was the petting zoo. OK, I admit it�I like to pet the animals. They had gumball machines filled with cracked corn. You put in a quarter and out comes a tiny bit of cracked corn about the size of the quarter, just right to fit a 3-year-olds open palm. There was a young couple and their round faced 3 year old feeding the goats that were using their horns to their advantage to knock the other animals from the fence, sticking their necks through the fencing, straining farther than any other animal. The Mother would give the child some cracked corn, showing him how to hold his palm flat and let the animals slurp it off of his palm. The child timidly stepped up to the fence and held out his palm full of corn but the second the snake like tongue of the goat reached the prize, the boy dropped the corn and with a huge smile on his face, ran in place for a moment emitting a deep infectious chuckle, then turned and buried his face in his fathers legs. I was getting such a thrill watching this little fellow that when his Mother ran out of change, I made Mike cough up the quarters he had in his pocket and fished a few out of my purse so I could continue to prime this child with corn for the mere pleasure of sharing his wonderful chuckle and child like delight. The sheep also were fairly aggressive but there was a llama who�s method was to simply stare someone down until they held their cracked corn up to the level of the his head, high above the annoying little goats, where he ate in relative peace. I felt sorry for the little cow. It wasn�t a calf but was a small cow, or maybe it was a bull�it had nubs on it�s head but I didn�t look underneath to see if it had an udder. Being a suburban girl�I don�t know my cows from bulls from a hole in the ground, but I do know that this little thing was intimidated by it�s smaller barnyard pals and just stood their with it�s under bite and it�s big beautiful eyes looking with hope that someone would notice it and feed it too. We then went in the barn for hot cider and a soft pretzel. Sipping the cider, we looked at the wares they had for sale and did some people watching. We found some picnic tables outside and continued our people watch from there and got to watch the farms owners chase and catch an escaped chicken. While we sat there we talked about how much fun we would have someday when Michelle had children and we would get to experience things like this through the eyes of a child��these were one of the times when we longed for a grandchild. After the snack we went through the Haunted Pumpkin, a small barn-like structure painted orange with a green roof. Inside, plywood walls erected like a maze led us through darkly where we would come upon a spooky vignette or a coffin propped upright with a skeleton inside. Spooky sounds haunted us and I held onto Mikes coat tail waiting for someone to jump out, but alas, it was a haunting for little ones�.no live monsters. We must have looked ridiculous going in and coming out of there without children, but we had fun. We will likely spend many more a Halloween season looking like middle aged kids, frolicking through a pumpkin farm childless. Michelle has broken up with serious boyfriend number 2 and is now �playing the field�. At 26, she is in no hurry to make us grandparents and I want her to wait until she is good and ready but Oh, how I wish she were good and ready now�..if only for the pumpkin farm. P. I. Yarnsmith
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