I spent the better part of yesterday sore, barely mobile, and wondering what in the world I had done to myself to get that way.

Then.  I.  Remembered.

See those pumpkins?  Yeah, several of them are upwards of sixty pounds each.  They are from my father’s amazing garden.  He kindly issued this warning:  “I wouldn’t eat them if I were you.  I used plenty of chemicals to get ’em that big.”  (Thanks, Dad.) 

That was perfectly fine with me as they were going to welcome visitors on my front porch anyway.

The pumpkins looked so lovely and festive there yet someone (okay, it was me) had the bright idea that they would be the perfect scenery around the big oak tree for a few fall photos of my little darlings. 

Never mind asking for help from dear hubby.  I began hauling pumpkins down the hill and over to the big tree.  Wasn’t so bad until I was down to the big three.  Perhaps we can blame this next part on the mid-afternoon slump that comes around 2:30, which normally prompts another coffee break.

I carried the smaller of the three (probably between 50-60 pounds) all the way down.  I was feeling invincible.  Now for the larger two.  I soon figured out there was no way that was going to happen.  So I carefully rolled them down the hill and over to the tree.  (Why didn’t I think of that sooner?)

Thankfully, my big, strong sweetheart lugged them back up the hill and to the porch when we were done.

Regardless, I was right.  Perfect scenery.   See?

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