Pumpkin Patch 2013: the Sweatening
I get a bit pissy when people assume I'm military, just because I'm white and overrun with kids. So once again, my Molokai High pride cost us a discount when, at Military Appreciation Day at the pumpkin patch, all the minivans ahead of us were waved in without charge and I demanded to throw money at them because RAWR NO, I'M FROM HERE. My integrity looks a lot like my pig-headedness.
It was the first day of the season, and there were so many huge pumpkins. The cousins tried to lift every pumpkin they came across before finally resigning themselves to small ones.
The walk back through the fields was a huffing stream of complaint. Especially when we passed the kiddie field right next to the gates, full of perfect little round pumpkins. The kids stuck with their warty little squashes out of spite.
The man chose as big a pumpkin as he could carry. I am suspicious that he plans to put the baby in it.
And then there was beer
The Märzen has been in the closet for a month, failing to ferment properly. The yeast did something weird, and the man had to syphon as much off the top as he could to save the batch.
There was a lot of grumbling over a beaker about gravity and clarity, but it's in the bottles and carbonating, which is the part of this process I am most attentive to.
In the meantime
Caramel apples. I added vanilla and sea salt to the melted candies, because I felt fancy.
Gathering good memories like bricks and mortar to wall off the bad year.
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