In the days leading up to Pumpkins on Pikes, it's easy to get lost in the madness of planning such a large event. You have to think of everything: from utensils all the way to planting a corn maze stalk by stalk because your cows got out and ate the first crop in its infancy. . . TWICE. It's easy, in those last crazy days leading up to the big moment, to start to doubt and wonder. Settling in after another long day, feet aching, hands chapped and sore, I imagined myself as a fictional farmer in a heartwarming film. . .
“Tara, people will come. They'll come to Sonoma for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you come in, you'll say. It's only $15 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the event barn; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have seats somewhere along hay bales, a memory of somewhere when they were children and felt child-like joy and excitement. And they'll watch the pumpkins get carved and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come, Tara. The one constant through all the years, Tara, has been community. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But community has marked the time. This field, this event: it's now part of our past, Tara. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Tara. People will most definitely come….”
I wonder, is that is why so many people were here? Why they were so happy? It was a feeling of peace and fun and safety that somehow we desire but seem to seldom create. For a few hours, I felt that safety in the world again.