2005-10-10 - 3:15 p.m.

The original plan was to bounce out of bed at 8am on a shiny, hooded-sweathshirt kinda morning, mount a brand new Trek 7100 mountain bike and pedal down the beautiful Katy trail until I reached Hartsburg,MO home of the annual pumpkin festival.

Of course when plotting this plan with my comrades from the health center, I did not take into consideration the effects of the night before the bike ride: the long shift at the bar, the adrenaline of serving 700 booze-hungry people, the cleaning afterwards, the struggle to fall asleep, yadda yadda yadda.

So when the alarm sounded and tried to roll me out of bed, I used what little energy left in my reserves to fling a half-hearted palm-chop in the direction of the snooze button, effectively shutting off my cell phone alarm and knocking it clear across the room. That'll teach you, cell phone alarm.

Round about noon, my tank topped off with just enough ZZzzZZzz, I roused out of bed and stumbling upon the thought of the Pumpkin Festival waiting for me, was instantly awake and sprinting to the shower.

As I soaped, I imagined hordes of Punkin folks all standing in a perfect photgraph snapshot, milling about a tiny city street, wood carved figurines in one hand, children with cotton candy smiles in the other...

With quicksilver like speed, I pulled one jean leg on and then another, sliding them up still shower-soaked legs. On went the t-shirt and the coup-de-grace, the oh so comfortiable brown jacket that serves as my protective candy shell during the winter months.

6 discs in the changer, painting a perfect musical backdrop for the 30 minute drive down route 63 and through backroads to the tiny lil hamlet. Neil Young, M. Ward, Son Volt, Sufjan Stpehens, Tears and Prayers, and Ryan Adams performed a Fall Festival jamboree for me and me only as I flew by cars packed with families who had "Pumpkin Festival Bound" written all over their smiles.

Pulling into the town, the electricity leaping out of my eyes and teeth, I found myself smack dab in a 200 car line of families trying to get to the inconvienantly placed parking lot in the field on the other side of town. Exchanging some good karma points for convienance, I lucked out and was waved into a nearby parking spot at the north end of town by a friendly policeman. Catching a look of jealously and smoldering hatred from the 199 other cars in queue, I whipped into the prime spot. Rather then sitting in my car for the next 20 minutes, inching forward like a lazy cattle train, I was now parked a scant 2 miuntes walking distance from the heart of the town.

I stepped out of the car, and before foot met ground, I was overpowered (intoxicated?) by the smell of small town euphoria. The funnel cake, the pumpkins, the horses, the freshly mowed lawns, the apples, the beer, the hay...

Like a corneucopia of scents, it was impossible to assimilate them one at a time, absolutely impossible to enjoy each flavor before moving onto the next. The crunch of gravel underfoot, the breathless giggle of running children, the sound of country winds rushing through screen doors...

Walking besides idling cars it was impossible to hide the giddiness... and thus, I made absolutely no attempt to. 24 going on 9, I walked (bounded?) the remaining hundred or so feet to the festival boundary and prepared for the rush...

Like a panoramic camera I tried to capture the entire scope of the festival on first view. For the next 5 hours, I would taste, touch, smell and feel the things that keep me young, that remind me that the world is alot bigger/smaller than the one that exists within our egos.

Knowing that my coworkers were somewhere amongst the crowd, I felt tempted to give them a ring and establish a rendezvous point... but on second thought, no...

I put the cell phone back into my jean pocket, resolving not to use it... today was not a day for easy outs, technological shortcuts...today was a day for simple pleasures.

One foot in front of the other, I navigated the swirling and ever-shifting maze of festival-goers who packed themselves into the narrow street. From time to time I ducked into nearby booths to examine handcrafted pumpkin napkin holders, mason jarred relish perserves, and home-made cinnamon pecans. Children ranging from 2 to 62 ran by me chasing each other with balloon animals and sticks of cotton candy.

Somewhere nearby a karaoke machine belted out the background music for a gospel sing-a-long.

People of all shapes and economical backgrounds blended into one gigantic humanoid mass that surged back and forth down the two or three connecting paths that formed the basic boundaries of the festival.

After only 15 minutes of solo wondering, I ran into my friends from work. We smiled and shared the obvious commentary about the festival as we meandered from booth to booth. Being amongst Dean, his roomate Drew and Devin and her husband Drew (yes, 2 Drews), I sensed a little of that eagerness and joy that I also harbored. That need to taste and touch and experience all these simple pleasures that we take for granted every day. Even the sunshine felt fresher than the nicest day in Columbia.

Through the course of the afternoon we snacked on pecans, ate a pork loin sandwich the size of a large frisbee, drank freshly squeezed lemonade, ate apples that had just come off of a tree, enjoyed greasy-heart-attack-imminent potato chips...

Old men passed by me, their wrinkles momentarily stretched and ironed smooth by smiles that hadn't seen the light of day in years.

It was, as I had suspected it would be, just too much for me to try and take in. So I stopped trying and just got drunk off of the sights and smells and sounds around me. I stopped trying to understand it, trying to take it apart, trying to put a name and reaosn behind it and just loved being there instead. It was a sentiment I wish other people could have shared with me, but for reasons unknown, it seemed they could not.

As the festival began to wind to a close, I offered Devin and Drew a ride back to Coooper's Landing, where they had begun their bike ride, and where their car was parked. Dean and his roomate Drew offered to meet us there and we set off leaving the tiny little town. In the rearviewmirror, the town looked like a birthday girl, carrying on and drinking way too much... oblivious that tomorrow there would be hell to pay for having so much carefree fun.

About half an hour later I pulled up to Cooper's Landing, a tiny little bar/restaurant alongside the Missouri river. The sun was setting and the picnic tables had just been cleaned. A folk duo fronted by a woman with gray stringy hair sang songs about rivers and lonesomeness. A thai restuarant operating out of the back of a trailer furnished us with some of the best food I've had in months, and coupled with an ice cold Newcastle, served as the perfect end to the perfect day. Sharing each other's company and the most beautiful sunset in recent memory, a handful of friends dropped their guards and let the happiness roll right out of our mouths.

We can all sink into the net, become addicted to our jobs, let our bad moods surface without rhyme or reason, and carry our sadness on our backs for the world to see...

But how often can we just be happy?

previous - next