Punkins

Burrows, Pumpkins & Pony Train

“Punkins”

“Do you want to pick some pumpkins?” We said, while turning toward the small boy, fast asleep.  Landon Johnson was sitting upright in his car seat.  His eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily.  The short drive from our house in Centerton to Pea Ridge, Arkansas was just long enough for the SUV’s drone and cool air to lull him into a kip.  Now, he was beginning to stir.  His arms reached toward the ceiling and his head turned, first to the right and then to the left.  Then, his eyes began to flutter open, ever so slightly, acting as our cue.

We got out of the car and stood on the solid ground of McGarrah Farms, where we looked out across a vast field filled with orange, white & pink pumpkins, and punctuated with sun flowers, strawberries, hay stacks for climbing and tractors giving hay rides and pulling a pony train.  They all competed for the attention of our own little, just awakened, “Punkin.”  And, we were also soon to learn that at McGarrah Farms, Punkin isn’t just slang for pumpkin.  It means much more than that.

I began to understand Punkin’s more comprehensive meaning as soon as I heard it drawaled out, through a megaphone, by a jolly man calling us to accompany him on the farm’s hay ride tour.  He used the tractor and attached hay wagon as a vehicle to do more than simply show us the farm.  He combined his own humor and experience, with the ridden upon hay and wheels to encourage the deepening of personal relationships.

“Make sure to give your Punkins more face time with less screen time.”  He said as we drove through the haunted woods, located just to the side of thousands of pumpkins.

“When I was a kid, I could spend the whole day in the barn using just my own imagination.”  He continued exhorting us as he drove forward toward the pony train ride.

When the hay ride came to an end I sat still.  In a moment, a small girl hesitated as she was about to walk past.

“Why are you still sitting here?” She asked.

“Because I don’t want to miss the parade.”  I replied.

“What parade? She continued.

“You and the others walking by.”  Was my response as I gave her a little parade wave, elbow, wrist, then hand.

She smiled at me, waved back, grinned broadly at her Mom & Dad and then continued to use her hands to grasp hold of her family as they paraded toward the alluring sea of pumpkins.

The sea of pumpkins soon swallowed us as well.  We pulled our little wagon, making sure to select proper pumpkins.  The ones speaking to us about how to decorate them, when we arrived back at our home.  But, not yet.

We first drove a little way toward the roaring river state park, where we parked on the edge of the river to watch fly fishers and enjoy the playground before the sky began to cry.  We also sat on a park bench in an effort to savor the moment.

“Days like this, will be what he remembers, cherishes, the most!”  I said to my daughter, Kilee, as we watched her son climb and slide.  The emotion of the moment seemed to be just too much for the clouds above us as they seemingly began to shed tears of joy in our direction.

“Do you want to take our picked Punkins home?” I said, while turning toward the small boy, fast upon the slide.  Landon, next held our hands as we crossed the parking lot and dodged rain drops before he sat upright in his car seat again.  His eyes were soon closed once more and he began breathing heavily again.  The short drive from the Roaring River to our house in Centerton was just long enough for the SUV’s drone and cool air to lull him into a well-deserved kip after our hearts had been stirred. 

Pumpkins had acted as our cue for Punkins to fill our hearts and fuel our memories.