This is what feels like the obligatory pumpkin patch post (if only I had the energy to dig up the photos). We went out to a local pumpkin farm almost a month ago on a lovely, sunny Saturday morning. It is practically irrelevant by now except for the Henry anecdote that goes with it. Also, I have taken so few photos lately these are the best I have to share. Henry knew what pumpkins were and had been pointing them out on porches, in photos, and at the grocery store. He was excited to go to the “pumpkin farm” and talked about it much of the 20-minute ride out there. Somewhere along the way though the story changed. He started telling us how he wanted to go to the “monkey farm. ooo, ooo, eeee, eeee.” When we arrived, he was happy to wander around the pumpkins and look at chickens. He told everyone we saw for a day or two about the pumpkin farm but every once in a while I would still catch him talking quietly to himself about the “monkey farm. ooo, ooo, eeee, eeee.” I only wish we could have followed through on that one.