I rode my bike out to Sweet Berry Farm last weekend and found myself, for some inexplicable reason, drawn to warts. Or whatever one calls those irregularly-shaped protrusions on pumpkins. They're weird but compelling in their variety of colors and textures. Some struck me as looking more like peanuts (how does that happen?!?). Then there were the people perusing the ridged and warted and peanutty pumpkins: all ages and sizes, dressed in every imaginable shade. The little pink-shirted girl wearing little pink Crocs and working so hard-if-indecisively to choose just the punkin' (with just the right stem) was my favorite; she drew me right in. As did the dog sleeping not far from the "No Dogs" sign. As did the toad peering out from under a gourd. The gourd was leaning on the toad, actually (and maybe appropriately, as gourds and toads have something in common, right??). And, as I leaned in for a closer look, an older gentleman leaned in toward me and said ... um, uh, well, I can't remember what he said exactly, but it was something to the effect of: "Why are you looking so closely at nothing??" He thought I was out of my gourd. Or maybe a knucklehead (that's a type of warty pumpkin, strangely). Must say, the last time I was so taken with matters of texture was that day, not so long ago, at Reject Beach, when it was covered with little round bumps of a different sort: jellyfish.
Ick.
But that was another day.
On this day, it was late, so I didn't stay.
I hopped back on my bike and got on my way ...
