I recently got to join my oldest two in going pumpkin-patching with their school.
Doesn’t that sound like a lot more fun than “going to the pumpkin patch?”
I mean, everyone goes to the pumpkin patch. And then what? I don’t know. But going pumpkin-patching means we got to actually pick a pumpkin…
…Or a pumpkin-like something…
…And go through a corn maze…
(Remind me to post one day about my highly “scientific” theory on the vital importance of mixing age groups in academic settings—this young lady is a gem.)
…And jump in a cotton trailer full of cotton–”cause this is the country, folks!
This was clearly the highlight of the afternoon!
And we learned that crayons are made from soybeans…
…And we played in corn boxes made from round bale feeders…
…And climbed on a straw bale playground…
…And even rode a wild bull—
Ok, maybe I’m getting a little carried away…
…But we did get to meet one on our hayride. Sort of. His–I mean her–name was Scarlett.
And I just don’t think “going to the pumpkin patch” covers that kind of afternoon.
