Here, out and about just a bit north of our little Northern California town, out where grass-fed cows roam, down near the river, is where to find our pumpkin guy’s farm.
A big pumpkin patch where we’ve been coming to since we moved here. Families make it a full event bringing the kids, some lil’uns picking their very first pumpkins, while others come decked out in costume all to find the best specimen for the perfect jack-o’-lantern or to get lost among the green stalks in the corn maze.
Sunflowers sprinkled about mingle with pumpkins of a myriad of shape and color.
This year I spotted him. I’ve only heard stories of him wandering the fields in the late afternoons, making himself visible only to a few but I caught him this year, the Ghost of the Mad Hatter trudging through the patch on a mission he alone knows.
We were not without an audience.
Our small haul, for baking purposes. The hunt for our carve-worthy ones will come just before Halloween.
Warm apple cider pressed from the orchard-plucked apples themselves and a pumpkin cupcake made from our harvest.