Beyond the grave For true pickers, the supermarket just won’t do ay Nicoie Krueger Managing Editor I didn't want to pick my pump kin from the rotting ranks of the Albertson’s line-up. I didn't want to dig through the bin of squished squash in front of Safeway. And I certainly didn’t want to buy a no carve plastic jack from the likes of Target. I wanted the whole experience. 1 wanted to wade in the mud and ward off bugs while choosing the perfect pumpkin. I wanted to stumble upon my own orange dia mond-in-the-rough just waiting to be cut to perfection. I wanted to experience the golden hues of the fall harvest outside the autumn-in a-box offered by supermarkets and novelty stores. I got what I wanted —and more. In my experience, a trip to the pumpkin patch meant driving up to the field, walking around, se lecting a pumpkin and paying for it. This is what I expected when I drove up to Herrick Farms, located at 88088 Millican Road off the McKenzie Highway. However, when I got out of the car and looked around for the field of orange I had envisioned, all I saw were a few scattered piles of small, unsightly pumpkins. “Looks like the pickings are slim,” said my boyfriend, who was still amused by my insistence at dri ving all the way out to Springfield fora pumpkin. Then we climbed onto the farm’s tractor-driven hay wagon just as it was ready to roar away, and ouradventure began. We sat on stiff bales of hay, shiv Reporter’s NOTEBOOK ering slightly in the early evening air, as the wagon wound past a pond, a house, a barn, a goat pen, orchards and, finally, the orange expanse of the pumpkin patch. I should add that early evening is the perfect time to visit the farm. The dwindling daylight provides the perfect mood for selecting this Halloween staple, and late in the day, most pumpkin pickers have already picked and gone home. We had the friendly orange field almost to ourselves when we ar rived. We disembarked and began roaming the field. “See you in the morning,” the driver called as the hay wagon departed. We laughed nervously at what we hoped was a cheerful joke, envisioning our selves hauling a huge pumpkin through the deserted and darken i ng maze of the farm. Thus began the agonizing task of combing the field for the veg etable destined to grace our patio. We understood immediately that we would not be able to limit ourselves to one. After falling in love with two perfectly shaped pumpkins of different sizes, we re alized we were still missing some thing: a BIG one. Apparently everyone else had had the same idea because a large, well shaped pumpkin proved hard to find. Fortunately, our search was . : .-.-.■i\