An Awesomely Exhausting Day

Saturday, we had big plans.

Our first and probably most entertaining stop was Hartsburg, Missouri. It was a gamble; I had no idea if they'd be selling pumpkins and gourds this early in October. I would have gone next weekend, except it'll look like this:



And as charmed as I am that this happens there every year, I don't necessarily want to be a part of it. So I decided to throw the dice in this Game of Life and nabbed Neil (and a large wheeled tub, just in case) to drive twenty minutes down 63 to see if they might rustle me up some orangey decor this weekend. (I tried to find out beforehand, but I wasn't getting answers...naturally, an article appeared in yesterday's paper--a day too late for my purposes--reporting that they were open.)

As we neared the town, I began to get a bit nervous. "Oh crap," I thought. "What if this town isn't as tiny as I remember it?" Dad always drove, not me, and I am horrible with directions. I don't know right from left, north from south, gravel from paved, etc. If I don't drive regularly in a place, I'm pretty much screwed (and often get lost even then, when I know the place, as well). So I began to wonder if I'd sent us on a wild goose chase both for pumpkins AND the actual place where we might GET pumpkins.

I needn't have worried. Hartsburg consists of two blocks of civilization, and my vague recollection of turning left past the main drag was a correct one. I wondered if the houses I remembered were still standing on that road, or if we'd even find them at all.

We found it, all right--at a house with a sign reading Hackman Produce, right off Main Street. It was entirely familiar to me. The huge, huge rows of gleaming bright orange pumpkins off to the side was as marvelous (if a bit surreal) a sight as I'd ever seen, and the front lawn was liberally covered in butternut squash, funny-looking watermelons (one looked like a huge green kidney bean), bright orange warty gourds with dark green ends, crates full of tiny gourds in every fall color combination imaginable, and pumpkins ranging from cute minis ($0.50) to the hugest pumpkins you have ever seen. You could comfortably ride four people on those things, I swear (and at $25? A seriously good deal).

I had one goal: nothing too normal. I wanted a Yoda gourd (grayish-green ovals with pointy ends that look, sitting flat, like the head of...well, you know) for sure, but they only had one, and it was only sorta-Yoda lookin' (which I got anyway). I spent an inordinate amount of time pawing through the crates of tiny gourds, getting far too carried away (but they were so cheap, it didn't matter). In this, Neil and I are superb matches--he walked up and down the rows of huge pumpkins, waiting for one to call to him, while I gourd-shopped and selected smaller pumpkins.

Y'all, I can't tell you how delightful it was. The weather was FREAKING perfect (high 70s), the shade was plentiful in that beautiful yard, everyone asked why I had such a load and I got to say "For my wedding!", and the price felt like I was getting away with something. Eventually, after an hour or so of meandering and piling and choosing, we loaded up Neil's Subaru...adding two hay bales for good measure. I've never worked with hay bales, and was surprised at their slipperiness (though I shouldn't be. A famous scene in On the Banks of Plum Creek told me long ago that hay is slide-able), but we got 'em in, and the car was loaded to the very top. No kidding, when we removed the bales later on, the car's padded ceiling was covered in hay.

We headed to Dad's house next to drop off our loaded car and tackle the remaining errands. None were as charming and wonderful as the Hartsburg trip, but satisfying all the same. After Neil refueled at Taco Bell with a chicken Cheesy Gordita Crunch and strawberry Fruitista Freeze (we sat in the parking lot and watched revelers walk below us on the MKT toward the Roots N Blues BBQ Fest downtown), we saddled up and visited Hobby Lobby, where we finished up some wedding-supply shopping, picked out some righteous paper napkins (you'll see, they're awesome), and just generally scored. Next was a quick stop at Pier 1, where the day before I'd found an awesome rust-colored metal turtle on clearance, and wanted Neil to check it out. As he was paying MUCH less than and arm and a leg for it, who should also be visiting the store but the wonderful Alla B., and as always, it was a delight to see her.

We were losing steam, but I wanted to get our last stop in...visiting our wedding site at around the same time as the actual wedding. As we were exiting the car at Shelter, a big white truck was letting off its passenger: a bride. A bride in a severely 80's dress, bright white with ruched long tight sleeves, satin everywhere the eye could see, and very, very big poufy brown hair piled on top. I whispered to Neil "Don't worry, honey..I'm not going to look like that."

We walked past Miss Arkansas 1987 through the front gates, and immediately Neil stifled a guffaw. Standing pensively on the foot bridge, awaiting his Vision In Glamour, was the groom. His back was to us, but that was enough...enough to see his spanking-new white tuxedo (WITH TAILS, mind you), gleaming white shoes, and unfortunate turquoise trimmings (the back of the bowtie, specifically). The tux was a little too big for him, which added to its appeal, as far as I'm concerned. I echoed my earlier statement and said in a low voice "...And you're not going to look like that."

We held our breath against the Designer Imposter fragrance he was wearing and scuttled past him to the schoolhouse to plan out our ceremony. For the next few minutes, we discussed chair placement and where things would go and where we'd stand and all that...but our serenity in that haven of one-room education wouldn't last. For Mandi and Derek appeared in the doorway, completely blocking any exit strategy, and we had no choice but to wait until the obligatory "schoolhouse doorway" shots were completed (Oh, I'm not complaining--I want 'em too! Also, I made up their names). When the photographer eventually wrangled her charges inside the schoolhouse, we made our exit...but not before I noticed the poor gentleman was wearing not only a turquoise bowtie, but a glaringly bright vest in the same color...and Neil made the most profound discovery: the presence of makeup on Derek's face. His hair was verrrry carefully gelled within an inch of its life, in spikes that I suppose he was attempting to look artfully mussed.

It was amazing.


Nothing would top this, so we dragged ourselves home to settle in for an evening of Elite XC fighting (all Neil), Mizzou football during the downtimes (both of us, but I wanted it more), Hawaiian pizza from Papa John's (ALL Neil, yuck!), and looking lovingly at one another.