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And we can’t just head out to the patch and amble around with polite, familial joy. It has to be a production. It has to be a mark of the passage of time, a recognition that another year has passed and that we still all enjoy one another’s company. And your mom has to approve. And your dad has to be unamused and is required to take pictures.

And this is why half of our family found themselves in a field, surrounded by rotting pumpkins, with a storm blowing in over the mountains.

Here is our family picture:

We arrived at the pumpkin patch as the weather rolled in. We were warned at the gate that an early freeze had damaged much of the crop in the field, but that they had positioned crates around the fields that had “good” pumpkins in them.

Angie, undeterred by this egregious display of expertise and the gathering clouds, navigated us to a corner of the field only mostly covered with cars and people, without a crate within throwing distance. As we parked, I asked what the plan was.

Angie, after careful consideration, decided that Alphie and I would disembark and scout the pumpkin patch while she secured Bettie and followed along behind.

Alphie, you and I did as ordered and moved off into a field of broken, fermenting pumpkins. You carefully examined each pumpkin for color, shape, and their ability to leave a slime trail if they rolled. I took pictures.

Periodically you would look at me and smile. The weather continued to get worse.

After the selection of one small pumpkin that wasn’t mushy, it became apparent that your mother and sister were not joining us. The family car sat back at the road without a hint of activity. The doors were closed, and the occupants were presumably still warm and safe, buckled into their seats.

Not only were they still in the car, they were still in the sunny part of the world.

Alphie, you and I had been abandoned in a harsh world of composting fruit and rain clouds.

We quickly returned to the car, checking to make sure the occupants were okay, and not laughing at us.

And, based on our scouting mission of the field and the encroaching storms, we decided that it would probably be best to drive over to the crates and get a “nice” pumpkin and hopefully get a few cute pictures.

Bettie, you were initially skeptical.

You quickly moved on from skepticism to out-right suspicion of everyone and everything.

And then the wind picked up, the rain started, and we took the aforementioned family picture. All in all, it was a wonderful extension of our family tradition.

And once both of you girls were snug and secure in your seats with your new pumpkins in the trunk, your mom was able to brave the wind and rain to pick a pumpkin.