He lowered her carefully, keeping hold of her hand. She immediately pulled toward a squat orange pumpkin with a crooked stem.
“I want this one, Mommy!”
“We just got here, baby,” Shelly said. “Let’s look at a few more first.”
But Daisy had already wrapped both arms around it. The pumpkin was nearly as big as she was. She tried to pick it up but fell back and rolled over. She sat up, giggling with hay in her hair.
Ivy pulled out her phone to take photos. “That’s a cute shot.”
The light was excellent, so she snapped more pictures of Daisy straining against the pumpkin, Mitch helping her, and Shelly having a hearty laugh.
Bennett wandered ahead, examining pumpkins and sorting them.
When Daisy saw him doing that, she looked intrigued. She cast aside the first pumpkin and ran after him.
Shelly held up her hands. “What did I just tell her?”
Ivy laughed, but she loved how serious and discriminating Daisy and Bennett looked.Snap. Snap.“Are you grading them on excellence?”
“We’re being thorough.” Bennett stood, brushing dirt from his jeans. “This is important. Not just any old pumpkin will do, because I know you. You want unusual, original ones you can use for artistic inspiration.”
She blew him a kiss and snapped another photo.
Daisy continued to trail Bennett, with Shelly and Mitch in close pursuit. They ambled through the pumpkin patch, with Daisy stopping every so often to pat a new pumpkin. Some she declared too big, others too small, another too bumpy. Her babbling commentary was a sweet soundtrack.
Ivy fell into step beside Shelly while Mitch and Bennett debated the merits of traditional orange versus more exotic varieties.
“She knows what she likes,” Ivy said, watching Daisy reject another perfectly good pumpkin.
“As we all do. It’s incredible how observant they are at this age. We watch what we say now because she’s a little copycat.” Shelly adjusted the straw hat she’d worn against the sun.
Moments later,Daisy’s shriek of delight got their attention. She’d found one she wanted, a medium-sized pumpkin with perfect symmetry and a curled stem. She sat beside it in the dirt, stroking it like it was a pet.
“This one,” Daisy said.
They walked over to inspect the selection. Mitch was listening to Daisy babble on about the pumpkin.
“That’s a good one,” Ivy said, crouching beside her niece. “Very round.”
“Round,” Daisy echoed.
“That’s right,” Ivy said, repeating the word. Her niece’s vocabulary was expanding. Shelly and Mitch took turns reading to her every night.
Bennett approached with several pumpkins in a rainbow of colors on a flatbed cart. Orange, white, and green striped pumpkins.
“I love the assortment,” Ivy said.
After purchasing, they loaded their selections into the wagon. Daisy insisted on walking beside her chosen pumpkin to ensure its safety. The wagon wheels protested the weight as Mitch pulled it toward the farm stand.
The stand was a permanent structure, weathered wood painted barn red. Its awning provided shade, and beneath it stood long tables displaying jars of honey, apple butter, and preserves with handwritten labels. A chalkboard advertised the drink menu:Hot Apple Cider, Hot Cocoa, Fresh Churros.
The aromas hit them first. Cinnamon, cocoa, and baked goods.
They ordered five hot cocoas and several churros. The woman running the stand had kind eyes and an apron dusted with cinnamon. She poured from an industrial dispenser, topping each cup with a swirl of whipped cream.
They found a spot at a picnic table under a massive oak tree, its leaves just starting to turn yellow at the edges.
Ivy sipped her hot cocoa. It was rich and thick, made the old-fashioned way.
