Harvest Festival and an Indian Summer


October is a big month in our family. It kicks off with such a bang that it physically cannot stop after the first few days. Once in motion, October says in motion until the calendar says so. And if you think that’s ridiculous then go right ahead and challenge Newton. He’s only one of the most influential scientists OF ALL TIME. I, however, tip my hat to the man. Well done, old sport. Brilliant! And being the (scientifically) law-abiding woman that I am, I have no intention of disputing Sir Issac. So the month’s festivities continued over the weekend as my sister and I packed up our three pints for a day on the farm to reap some of the season's early goodies.

As we got dressed, the dark foggy morning tricked me into believing a crisp fall air would greet us at the door.  My visions of a cool fall day, dressed up in jeans and a chunky sweater, while sipping on a steaming latte melted into a disgusting sweaty puddle at my feet though as the temps were already in the mid-seventies. That there is what they call an Indian Summer.  And to think, some parts out west, got their snow fall last week! Methinks there is a huge disparity in Mother Nature's take on Autumn these days. ANYWAY. After a quick wardrobe remix, we made our way to the outskirts of suburbia and stepped into historic agricultural Maryland. This Harvest Festival had it all: corn mazes, pumpkin decorating, scarecrow stuffing, animal feeding, and even old-timey laundry washboarding - kind of random, but totally cool.

I keep falling into this new mom trap of thinking that just because my son is a baby he can’t appreciate things the way his three-year old cousin (or even his 13 mos old cousin) does. But every time, the little guy proves me wrong. I had him standing on my lap during the hay ride from our car to the farm grounds and the road was lined with the most stunning tress. I saw his eyes widen as we passed the deciduous reds that were just entering their prime and in that moment knew that nothing gets by him. Then, as we walked through the gardens, he reached out for flowers, touching them so gently as if he already understood their delicacy. Even the laundry hanging to dry in that sweltering sun, was a sensation. He is so observant and curious that I wouldn’t doubt it if he one day says to me that he remembers it all.



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