Decorative Gourds

Today, on my way home from a work trip, I passed a small farm stand that immediately triggered a forgotten memory. It’s a stand I drive by regularly, as it’s only about fifteen miles or so down the road from where I live. I know I’ve seen it, I just don’t recall taking particular note of it, until today.

By the time I hit the road this morning, the first real storm of the season had made landfall on the coast. And it was a good one - lots of rain, lots of wind, and plenty of gloom. Typically, when I drive by the stand, it’s at least a non-headlights-inducing level of bright outside. Actually, more often than not, it’s a pleasant day when I pass it, as I’m usually off to do something outdoorsy if I’m headed that way.

It so happens that where the farm stand resides, the road traces a winding river. On either side of which are sprawling meadows, pastures, and forested foothills in all directions. It’s quite an attractive drive. So I might be forgiven for being visually enticed away from roadside commerce opportunities. But the elements were intent on cloaking my normal distractions today.

In such a muted landscape, the place stuck out like an autumnal sore thumb. A well-lit cottage of coziness in the cold, adorned with colorful pumpkins and other gourds of all shapes and sizes. A Hallmarkian scene as fine as any set designer could assemble, and any eyes passing by today would’ve had to try hard to miss the place.

Then, just as I reached it, the vivid image of Kara beaming while picking out one of those smaller decorative gourds flashed in my mind’s eye. Something I suddenly remembered she did, at that very stand, what must have been about ten years ago now.

My heart skipped, and I had that same little flash of adrenalized panic you get the moment after you slice your finger with a sharp knife. “Oh boy….how much is this about to hurt?” At first, I was as confused as I was shocked by the memory. I’ve driven by that stand a hundred times, and not once did that memory pop into my head. Where’s it been? Why now?

Oh yeah. It’s October.

Back then, I was working on a hiking guidebook for the region I now call home. And she accompanied me on numerous research field trips to the area, one of which was in October. It’s a curious thing how memories map. Over the last three years, I didn’t recognize that stand as the scene of a coveted albeit momentarily misplaced memory. Until I saw it again in its full harvest season splendor, and radiating beneath the overcast skies of October.

Which also happens to be the only month on the calendar that held any meaning or significance for my beloved goth gal. So the acquisition of pumpkins was of paramount importance. For decoration, carving, eating - all the things. And my participation was mandatory. In the handful of years since the loss, the spooky season has been a rough one for me. But this year I’ve been more or less gliding through it so far.

Once all these revelations began to settle, my eyebrows lowered again, and a slight but solemn smile washed over my face. Because without fail, a scene like the one I just witnessed, in this case, that exact scene, would elicit a uniquely overjoyed smile on hers. A collection of broad grins that I looked forward to seeing this time every year. So I felt a little mournful that I no longer get to witness them, but also blessed to have recalled a specific one that I had forgotten.

I was down the road a ways by the time I got all that sorted. So I decided not to turn around and go back. But I might tomorrow. It is decorative gourd season, after all.

I went back the next day.