
I always loved Halloween as a kid. Some of my best memories are of trick-or-treating until I couldn't feel my feet - we could cover most of our small village in just a couple of hours, but it was enough time to get numb toes in the unpredictable Wisconsin fall. I'm pretty sure there were a few Halloweens where we were stuffed into our costumes with puffy winter coats and turtlenecks underneath, with more than a few snowflakes in sight. I also LOVED helping my dad get all gored up with fake blood, peeling zombie flesh, and fake latex spikes. He got such a kick out of scaring the bejeezus out of the neighborhood kids. Good times, good times.
Halloween is a little tamer for me now, but I still can't resist carving pumpkins, roasting seeds, and stuffing myself silly with candy. The pumpkins are definitely the best part. "Pumpkin Farms" where the pumpkins are already chopped off the vine and stacked in neat piles make me a little sad. Sure, it's convenient. But where's the sweat? Where's the mud-caked jeans? And the true need to wear galoshes? Admittedly I've bought pumpkins from the grocery store in the past, but it's just no fun. But what a happy discovery this year: the nearest pumpkin farm to our house is the kind where they hand you a pair of clippers, point to the wheelbarrows, and turn you loose in a big wet misty field.
Yes.

Oh YES.

We went home with 57 lbs of pumpkins and and armful of fresh produce from the farm stand, all for about $20.


I love our pumpkin farm.













