magic monday

Gary lived on the Murphy Farm when I was growing up. Most of my childhood weekends were spent in the kitchen of that farmhouse, in the garage with my dad working on cars with his friends, and later in the little apartment my dad rented that was attached to Gary’s garage. My dad used the spare garage in the building right behind the little house.

The barns were all open, light and airy and had telltale signs of old age. All of the old farming trails out to the fields became our 4-wheeler trails, and when they ended we paved our own. The back farm field though, was my very favorite. Every year as a kid, I could hardly wait for the magic that October brought with it. 

That field sprouted pumpkins the size of my small seven year old body. Every year I had to tug on my mom and dad’s hand, begging them to hurry up so I could show them what surely was the best pumpkin for my Jack-o’-Lantern this year. The dirty knees of my pants still linger in my memory from inspecting each pumpkin. The magic of October is never going to be lost on me.