After forty some-odd years, I finally understand what Linus meant by an “insincere” pumpkin patch

You can always tell when autumn has arrived in “Linkister.” That’s when the  Amish corn and tobacco fields suddenly and inexplicably become strewn with bright orange pumpkins.

And wonder of wonders! They are all already detached from the vine, as if by divine/devine (heh) intervention, so that the city folk who descend in droves for the annual “pick yer own” family bonding bullshit don’t actually have to pick their own anything, but can simply point, get a latte, and then move the hell on out of the way.

Which is fine, actually, because no one in their right mind thinks it’s a good idea to let a New Yorker anywhere near a scythe.

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