We visited the farmer's market.
Brought back Brussel Sprouts on a stick.
I didn't realize they grow that way.
I always assumed they sprouted up like little lettuces out of the ground.
Nothing hotter than a man who loves his vegetables.
We also raked the leaves that had filled our yard.
Yellow. Brown. Crunchy.
Some leaves were still falling.
Like this one that floated gracefully until it came to rest on Noah's sweet head.
Noah jumped in every single pile. Buried himself completely. Popped out again.
His happiness is boundless.
And so contagious.
Sunday evening.
The non-Jack-o-Lantern Pumpkins beg and plead to be used for something
other than decorations for the front porch.
I bathe them. Chop them. Roast them.
They will be transformed into Pumpkin Butter.
Homeade Pumpkin Butter will be a fine Christmas gift for someone.
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