Pumpkin Eater

Dear Neglected Journal.  I ventured out to the great outdoors this past weekend.  Actually, I ventured toward D.C. and Punty and was driven out to the great outdoors in a leisurely, sun-dappled car ride nap.  But I arrived at the outdoors nevertheless.  Only to discover an orchard full of little children (and excellent cider donuts) and other mishaps.  Like how Punty's apple-picking trip came too late in the season, so we picked pumpkins instead (like that time we got blueberries instead of apples from a shady orchard in Maine... I have terrible luck with apples).  And she accidentally picked the farm her friend didn't recommend.  And by "pick pumpkins," I really mean "intimidate all the children off of the hayride, walk into half empty pumpkin field, wander around for 15 minutes as Punty picks pumpkin, then ride back into the store where Punty ditches said pumpkin for a prettier one from the bin."  I love it when I'm not the one that messes up.  On our way out, Liz ran into car trouble, so we camped out on the side of the road with a blanket and picnic.  It was the only time during the day that the outdoors cooperated.  The grass was nice, the sky was mostly clear, and the air was crisp.  It just came at the cost of a $2200 engine.  Lesson learned?  Avoid the outdoors.  Nothing good comes of it.