Assimilation

One of the other mothers at school (didn't I start yesterday's update with that line too?) said to me yesterday that they had been slacking off this year on their family pumpkin-patch visits. I tried to explain how this tradition strikes non-natives.

Well, I've only been here, what, almost nine years, and we've only had kids for the last five and a half, and pumpkin patches really don't impinge on your consciousness as a child-free adult. And then there's the requisite number of years spent thinking that it's a particularly ridiculous American thing to take your small child, dress it up (preferably as a pumpkin), stick it in a pile of hay with some real pumpkins and take photos. Because that's what happens at pumpkin patches, right? So at this point we're only really starting to work past our natural Irish cynicism and embrace the autumn tradition.

Dash's first year at nursery school, he was in the youngest class, and their "field trip" to the pumpkin patch took place in the school playground, where some straw was strewn and pumpkins placed. I didn't really even notice it, except that a pumpkin appeared in his tub at the end of the day. We took it home and put it outside the front door, where it probably sat and rotted sadly until about January. His second year, the day of the field trip was our second day back after a trip to California for a marathon, so he wasn't really feeling up to school. I ended up walking him down to the lake where the patch for the "big kids" was created, and accidentally discovering that it was quite a nice thing.

2010 pumpkin patch

They bring a lot of hay and a small pumpkin for every child (and a few over) down to an area beside our local lake that's a short walk from the school. The kids walk down, find a pumpkin and have their name written on it by a teacher or parent (to avoid disputes later). Then there's playing in the hay and snacktime, and then we all walk back up, pulling the pumpkins in little wagons. Somehow, it takes most of the morning, and it's delightful. Last year I was happy to find I was scheduled to co-op on the day of the walk, and this year, with Mabel, I embraced my role as self-appointed event photographer (along with most of the other parents there) and went along just for the heck of it. They're always happy to have a few extra helpers to stop the kids from pitching into the lake or burying a classmate irretrievably in the hay.

2011, Mabel helps

So we've still never been to a real pumpkin patch, the sort where the pumpkins actually grow. I'm ashamed to admit that I bought our big pumpkin in the supermarket this year - on the other hand, it's the first year I've actually gone and purchased one to carve at all. At real pumpkin patches, there are scarecrows and hay rides, and probably farm animals to pet, and all sorts of things I can't even imagine. Maybe next year we'll assimilate a little further and do that. One step at a time.