The Great Pumpkin

Ah, Fall. A magical time of year. I can finally wear pants outside without my gentlemen parts becoming a sweaty mess, spider season is coming to an end so I no longer have to wave my hands in front of me like an idiot everwhere I go, and the impending doom known as Christmas is right around the corner. In the spirit of this colorful season, this past weekend Leslie and I drove up to Dawsonville, Georgia to visit a pumpkin patch. It's simple pleasures like pumpkin patches that I often take for granted as an ex-New Englander, forgetting that Leslie has never experienced such things growing up in Orlando.

The pumpkin patch was at Burt's Farm, about an hour and a half or so from Atlanta. We spent a good hour walking around the patch, marveling at all the different kinds of pumpkins that we never knew existed. $70 and heavy wheelbarrow later we wrapped it up. Overall it was a really great trip.

What I didn't expect was that Leslie and I would be what I have dubbed as, 'geographically profiled.'

When we first got to Dawsonville, we were concerned the patch might not take cards so we decided to stop at a gas station for some cash. I went into the station and asked where the ATM was only to find it was down. So we went across the street to another station. As I was walking in the employee was putting an 'Out of Order' sign on their ATM. Frustrated, I asked the cashier if I were to buy something could I get cash back. She looked at me frustrated and replied, "No sir, we're outdated," in a not-so-pleasant Southern twang.

Later in the afternoon when we were leaving the patch we stopped at a bait and tackle shop for some lunch. We looked around the shop, which was about the size of our bathroom, and ordered a couple hot dogs. When the cashier rung us up Leslie was surprised how inexpensive it was and remarked, "$4.50? That's it?" to which the cashier replied, "Yup. This ain't Atlanta! Yuk! Yuk!"

I really got the impression that these folks were thinking, "You f_cking city folk, only coming around for your f_cking pumpkins." I guess wearing my shorts and a t-shirt and driving a Honda kind of gave us away as anything but local. It was humorous that we got pegged right away in town. I'm sure this the time of year for having lots of loud and bousterous strangers in town, but it's not like Leslie and I are from New York City and we went to the deep South. These people live an hour away from the major metropolitan area we call our home!

It's cool though. I'm more then happy to have them stare down their nose at me while I take advantage of their agricultural superiority. They get my money, I get their pumpkins. Seems like a fair trade.