On the Farm

Harrison's preschool had their annual field trip to the pumpkin patch on Friday. I looked forward to being there with both kids without an ounce of trepidation because I knew Robin was taking the morning off so I wouldn't be outnumbered. Thank you Robin.

This year we visited Fairbanks Farm, which is a smaller farm than the one the school chose last year. They chose a smaller farm partly to contain the children more successfully, and the plan worked. Our large group followed one of the farm's owners on a long tour in an organized, educational manner. Pumpkin Hill was our final destination.

The start of the journey to Pumpkin Hill began in the African Pygmy goat petting area. Gigi felt it her duty to get the most out of the opportunity by touching every single goat within the fence. Harrison made sure all fifty of us kids and parents knew where the goats' anuses were and that we should avoid what comes out of them. Thank you Harrison.

Then on through a sample garden that showed how about a dozen vegetables grew - beans, squash, zucchini, etc. I was impressed by the enormous zucchini, but not so impressed by the wafting, rotting smell that I couldn't quite place.

Next we visited the chickens, geese, peacocks, turkeys, ponies and GIGANTIC pigs in about that order. My, those were some pigs, with their many, many piglets and many, many nipples. One of the mothers next to me counted the nipples on one of the pigs for her son: sixteen. I didn't know that was possible! Is that normal? They looked red and swollen and gave me uncomfortable flashbacks of those first weeks nursing my own babies.

On Pumpkin Hill, Gigi and Harrison picked their pumpkins within seconds, then Gigi walked around looking appropriately cute in her hand-me-down wool jacket, and Harrison raced around looking inappropriately like someone else's child.

Then we walked back toward the muddy gravel parking lot, passing some more stinky pigs (Gigi, please take your lips off the pig fence, Gigi, Gigi, GIGI!), and passing the farm's caretaker, a caricature of a man, perhaps in his 60's, wearing a conical wool hat and black eye patch, pushing a wheelbarrow full of manure. He appeared now and then like a ghost, never smiling or acknowledging the children passing by. Perhaps this was not his lifelong dream.

One has to be thankful for the innocence and excitement that children bring to every situation. The grown-up in me could think of more than one better place to spend the morning than a cold, muddy, germy farm, but with the curious little ones, it practically glowed as a sunny spot at the end of the rainbow. Thank you kids.