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People in costumes stream along pathways between barns covered in orange lights.
A ferris wheel rises beyond the trees.
I sit forward. “They have a fucking ferris wheel?”
“I told you!” Mariah shouts.
“No, you didn’t!”
“I absolutely did!”
“You said hayride.”
“Same family.”
“A ferris wheel and a hayride are not related.”
“They both have seats.”
I can’t even argue because I’m too busy staring out the window.
This place is incredible. There’s pumpkins everywhere. Not the cheap plastic shit either. Real pumpkins. Thousands of them. Orange, white and green. Some are enormous, some tiny and some are stacked into arches along the walkways. A giant skeleton sits on top of one of the barns wearing overalls, holding a pitchfork.
Fog rolls across the ground near the entrance. People pose beneath a sign reading GET RIPE while a photographer takes pictures.
I laugh. “Okay. This is fucking cute.”
Mariah looks smug as fuck. “I told you.”
We follow attendants waving glowing orange batons toward a grass parking lot. Even parking feels like part of the event.
Music carries across the parking lot beneath the glow of string lights, weaving through rows of cars and groups already tailgating before they’ve even made it inside. Ward Farm employees wander between them in flannel and overalls, directing traffic and shouting greetings over the noise.
A group of guys in matching skeleton costumes cuts in front of our car, plastic cups in hand. One of them glances through the window and catches Mariah staring.
She waves.
He grins and blows her a kiss.
She catches it dramatically and presses it to her chest.
Ali groans. “We haven’t even parked.”
“I work fast.”
“You’re a disease.”
“A fun one.”
We finally find a spot and the second the engine shuts off, I open my door letting the cold air hit me.
Perfect.
Not freezing but cold enough to bite, making everything feel like October.
I step out and smooth my skirt.
We decided against elaborate costumes because apparently we’re boring adults now.
