It’s October. Which means sweaters, boots, hot cocoa, fallen leaves in just about every color, crisp mornings, chilly nights, and everything pumpkin. It saddens me to inform you that here in the lovely and (overly) warm Los Angeles, it’s still a constant 80 degrees and–even in mid October–I am unable to sleep without air conditioning or drink my morning tea without breaking a serious sweat. It’s a literal travesty. But even amidst the unfortunate “fall” that LA lacks, pumpkins are the one thing that can still ring in autumn like nothing else.
Not only has pumpkin flavored everything taken over the Starbucks menu, this festive flavor has stocked just about every shelf of Trader Joe’s. You think I’m kidding? Go check. Everything. And I’m not complaining! Spiced lattes are the greatest, and don’t even get me started on this pumpkin butter from TJ’s. A grilled cheese never tasted so good. Honestly, it’ll change your life. I’m already trying to calculate how fast I go through a jar so I can figure out how many jars I need stashed to last me until next October. Borderline obsession forming over here…
With all this pumpkin hype constantly surrounding me, only to remind me that fall does not actually exist in Los Angeles, I decided to make it exist and to create myself a little autumn of my own. Translation: I bought pumpkins. Stephanie looked up pumpkin patches (in Malibu of course), and this weekend we drove straight into the hills off of the PCH and went on a search for our perfect pumpkins.
We pulled up to the pumpkin patch to find, well, just that: a patch. A small piece of land with a few scattered pumpkins. I don’t know how these Malibu–boos do October, but it’s not how we do it back home. With such limited selection of pumpkins (and my slight OCD), I decided that none looked even remotely perfect enough to A. carve or B. place on my (nonexistent) porch. We headed back down to the highway and found a little “pumpkin patch” right on the beach (aka some imported hay bails and burlap scarecrows–how Mali-bougie).
As we browsed the piles and piles of stacked gourds, the two workers had their eyes glued to us… the entire time. Um, awkward. And not just like ‘making flirty eye contact with the cute guy across the room as he deliberately looks away and grabs the girl next to him’ kind of awkward. Awkward like dribbling some coffee on an unfortunate location on your shirt (girls, you got me) and having to wear it all day; people see it, you know they’re looking at it, they know that you know it’s there, and no one knows what to do about it. The kind of awkward that makes you stop functioning normally, gives you the slight shivers and makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. Tell me about it.
They watched me pick up at least 50 pumpkins, inspect them closely (obviously that included thumping them obnoxiously) and then place them back down when deciding they just weren’t good enough. (Breaking news: pumpkins and men do have something in common.) And to make it even more uncomfortable, I needed Steph to take photos so I could add them to my post. So there I was, on the side of the highway, all by my lonesome, taking selfies with a bunch of squash. Yeah, Megan. You’re so #cool.
The things I do for you people…
Keep doing you; even if that’s posing with some large (not to mention heavy) vegetables by the beach. It’s more common than you think.