Pumpkins, cider, and the smell of dirt

“Fall is here and all I have to say is, Fuck fall!”
• -Lewis Black “The White Album”

Okay, I actually like fall, I just didn’t have another quote about fall ready in my brain.

Fall, the time of football, apple cider, and pumpkin pie (you have to say “pumpkin pie” in Eric Cartman’s voice). When I was growing up, my parents would take us to a farmer’s market just outside of Baltimore to get things like sweet corn and other things that just “need” to be bought from a farmer’s market. The place, as best my memory serves, wasn’t too far away from the big city, but when I got there, it was the closest to the middle of nowhere I’d ever been until age 9 (when my elementary school, in there finite wisdom, sent the fourth grade off to Pennsylvania farm for a week). Not much surrounding the place except rolling hills and visions of the Appalachians off in the distance. Oh and yes, the smell of dirt.

It was not too big of a market, and for the life of me, I cannot remember it’s name, but I remember that it was never very well lit on the inside, which was where they sold the gardening supplies and flowers. The dirt smell was concentrated enough to permeate your olfactory senses as soon as you walk in. There was a covered area, hugging the small building, that provided the real estate for the edible things, and no, your nose wasn’t safe. For someone who’s allergic to pretty much anything airborne, I would handle it pretty O.K., but my mother was at defcon 4. The mere notion of a sniffle and she was headfirst into her purse. Moments later, and with a flourish I might add, she would produce a tissue. If Mandrake the Mother wasn't available, Dad was ready with a hanky that had a few goldmines on it. No thanks, I'll use my sleeve.

Just a few yards away from the goings on at main market was the real target of our annual autumnal adventure (alliteration, bitches). The pumpkin patch. A real live, goddam, living breathing, pumpkin patch. I thought Linus was gonna jump out screaming about how we’re disturbing his lurking. All the pumpkins in rows, ranging in sizes from “Ohmigod have you seen anything so cuuuute?” to “Stop trying to pick up that one John, it’s bigger than you are.”
This was before the weather as a whole went completely apeshit, so it was actually cold enough to need winter-wear.

It was also cold enough to warrant the serving of hot apple cider, which was good, but I was a hot chocolate man. Still, it was cool seeing the proprietors of the place huddled, along with the customers, around a hot pot of cider.

For the record, no, there weren’t any hay rides.

For the video portion of today's episode, Happy Birthday Adam West!