A stop motion adventure at a pumpkin farm

When we arrived, the parking lot was a field. Row upon row of glistening cars, the sun bouncing off of chrome, glossy windshields and So-Cal bumper stickers, blinding all the new comers. It was un-like any visit to a farm I'd ever partaken in before.
Getting out of the car I was struck immediately by the scent. You'd think it would be animal by-product in nature but it wasn't. If you can imagine what dry smells like, this was it. Dust rose in little clouds with each step we took, tickling our noses and mingling with the clashing aroma of a Piña colada. But alas there were no such tropical drinks on hand, instead I was smelling the people. Slicked up in layers of SPF123, varying scents of coconut and perfumes that every one seemed drenched in. Perhaps they hadn't really showered in essentials oils before arriving though, perhaps years of scented products were being released from their clothes and bodies with every sun-baked minute they stood out there.
We only made it a hundred feet before retreating back to our car for Plan B. Which included more water, our hats and a few moments to wave our hands in front of our faces Southern Belle style and proclaim to each other that "It surely was hot out here today."
"Spicy!" My husband said, and I agreed.
Despite the heat and the insane amount of people who all had apparently decide en masse to get a pumpkin this very day we bent our heads under the weight of the sun and kept our eye on the shadowy glory of the trees up ahead.
As we reached their cover, and a wisp of blissful coolness caressed our flushed faces I found more than comfort under those trees. I found tiny ponies, that I longed desperately to have ferry me about the place like Lady Godiva but with clothes. But whether it was the fact I was 3 times as tall as these gentle, hay munching beasts or because the idea of straddling a hot hairy animal on a hot harried day was melting my brain just thinking about it I can not say.
We spent the first 20 minutes in the fair like atmosphere of the farm taking umpteen million photos of the tiny ponies. Or, more accurately, my husband stood sweetly by my side as I kneeled in the dirt, un-caring about my behind stuck up in the air as I got my 17th photo of a horse eating hay. He was amused at me but understood. It isn't like one can just walk outside and take a photo of a little pony when ever one wants, so when one finds a little pony at their photo taking disposal one should take as many photos as their little camera card can hold.
Eventually I was torn away from the animals by the lure of meeting up with some relatives. We greeted each other in the age old manner of relatives with nods, ourselves reflecting back at us from their dark sunglasses as we traded boisterous versions of "Hot enough for ya?"
It was decided that we'd all visit the straw maze the farm had erected and here I truly saw country living at it's best. The availability of thick strong straw bales to construct a chest high maze was like ambrosia to my slightly citified mind. We ran through at break neck speeds, having adjusted to the heat or perhaps with delirium from the heat.
With the aid of our nephews we found the hidden mailboxes with stamps in 8 different locations and quickly filled our card. Our joy at the completion of the A-maze-ing task was quickly dimmed by the lack of prize. No statue erected in our honor, no small but tasteful gold leafed trophy that one could display upon their mantle. No instead there were the snickers and wide eyed stares from strangers at our baffled arguments that surely there was a prize.
We decided, after a few moments of pondering that the point of the maze hadn't been the filled card with stamps but the journey getting them, and we felt quite clever, giving smug knowing looks to the people who entered the maze as we exited. Newbies, we had come a long way mentally since entering that very same spot not 10 minutes ago.
The family slowly split apart, each doing their own thing and ours involved scarfing down a bratwurst, a straw bale as our seat. Our hunger had made itself known so hugely and violently that we didn't speak, passing the bratwurst back and forth in a fluid motion so that just as one of us finished chewing the tasty snack was handed back. Fittingly, like cows, we chewed constantly for 5 minutes with the sounds of kids and the murmur of crowds of people as background music.
We let our eyes follow the gentle slope leading downwards towards the un-shaded fields and the promising orange globes that dotted them in comforting numbers.
Despite the amazing amount of people I was sure there'd be no pumpkin shortages and I would find my very own to take home with us.
Re-fueled we made our way towards the fields and as we drew near I was amazed. So many pumpkins. I should have expected a pumpkin farm to very well stocked but the sheer number of the fat little fellows, in piles, scattered about, lonely giant ones, squat white ones and itty bitty baby ones boggled my mind. So many pumpkins.
The large ones beckoned me and I quickly found myself in the throes of a passionate hug with a pumpkin I couldn't even get my arms around. It was an enjoyable moment but even as I drew away I knew there'd been no spark. That what I needed wasn't one of those logic defying beasts but something small and perkier.
I scanned the many piles and slowly a strange feeling drew over me. Something niggled at the back of my mind and I looked about warily, trying to see what my brain was already sensing. It struck me suddenly, it looked as if every one was pregnant. With swollen orange bellies as they cradled pumpkins low in their arms and waddled up to the pumpkin check-out.
I shook the strange feeling away and resumed my own search for the perfect pumpkin to bring in to our lives.
Surprisingly, despite the many choices, the thousands of pumpkin possibilities I zeroed straight into the one that would be ours.I suspect it started calling me with veggie mental telepathy as soon as we entered the field. Magnetic field? Hay field? It doesn't matter, what matters is I swooped down and gathered our pumpkin into my arms and waddled my way to the checkout, no longer apart from the pumpkin impregnated crowds but now one of them.
I caught several people just arriving at the field eying my pumpkin with un-disguised avarice but I just smiled, and held little Arnold all the tighter.
Our feet were starting to protest as the sun was beginning to hang lower in the sky, most likely it was exhausted from such single minded burning intensity it shone with all day.
Before leaving we turned in a full circle, tired but pleased with our decision to go pumpkin adopting at a real pumpkin farm.
The stacked bales of hay, the petting zoo, the fair food and kid's games, the endless supply of pumpkins and happy crowd made for a lovely afternoon.
The strange feeling snuck over me once more and it was Alan who figured out what it was.
The people around us did not flow. They stopped and started, freezing in place like statues, fixed grins plastered on their faces and almost half of them stood with their arms raised, co-ordinating little digital cameras in their hands. The other half held their pumpkins and the scene about us moved like a stop motion animation.
Bursts of stillness, a frenzy of photo snapping, strike a new pose, freeze and snap again.
It was so strange.
It was surreal.
It was a day at a pumpkin farm in the digital age.