Thwarted

We have bad pumpkin juju.

Or so we thought last year when we hauled around a not-even three month old Stella with our dear friends, the Poulsons, to pick some pumpkins and came up empty handed.

We've been picking pumpkins with these pals for nearly ten years, and we always have a fantastic time "on the hunt." (It's been an amazing record of how quickly time flies and children grow. I can remember Abby and Isaac as wee ones running through fields with clippers and spending hours elaborately carving our prizes in their kitchen.)

So since we were so dismally disappointed last year, I took it upon myself to find a farm that would surely have oodles of pumpkins. Yes, oodles.

We searched far. We searched hard. We tromped through what we were told were the patches, but we ended up...

... here?

It seems the pumpkin patch I had so lovingly researched was a bit on the sparse side, and we were pretty much skunked.

Again.

Eric suspects the pumpkin gods are frowning upon us because we failed to carve our pumpkins three years ago. Bad pumpkin juju. I fear he's on to something.

Fortunately, it was one of those amazingly crisp and clear days in the northwest, and we simply enjoyed ourselves catching up, breathing the fresh air and eating some delicious apple pie.

After admitting defeat, we journeyed to the only place we knew would offer an overflowing abundance of pumpkin-ey goodness - our local supermarket.

This is the beauty of life with a toddler. Stella was happy at the farm, and she was happy at the market. She really didn't seem to see any difference between the two, and we were just happy to be together in the crisp autumn sun.