Oct. 26th, 2015 11:55 am
Fall Things
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muckefuckFor a while, it looked like we would have the cooperation of the weather for Saturday's leafing trip. A narrow band of storms blew through midmorning, soaking the landscape (and poor Fig, as he was just arriving at Home Despot), but it was forced on by a high pressure system and brought cloudless skies in its wake. The first hour of the drive was gorgeous. Then, out of nowhere, low-lying cloud cover swept in and stayed with us the rest of the day. Shortly after we made it to Wisconsin's one-and-only Apple Holler, they began releasing a fine drizzle.
That was our first stop and we were all a bit peckish. We were just going to get some food from a grillstand, but it lay only steps within a ticketed area, so we were politely asked to pay admission. We all bridled at the thought, since our interest in the assorted amusements was effectively nil, so we ended up in the sit-down restaurant at the very tail of the lunch rush. To our surprise, it was actually decent. Yeah, my potato pancake was undercooked on one side and the appled-studded coleslaw was too mayo-heavy, but the fried fish Fig and I shared was quite respectable, firm and not greasy nor too heavily-breaded.
Meanwhile, the drizzle was intensifying, so our shopping coincided with a rush indoors, leading to long lines and a struggle to find products. (For an apple-themed establishment, they sure make their apple butter perversely hard to find.) Happily, though, this concluded with the acquisition of--among many other things--a dozen apple cider donuts still warm from the fryer. At this point, we concluded that the rest of our day was simply gravy and retreated to the car to formulate a plan.
Fig had a comically vague hand-drawn map from a coworker listing various attractions nearby. We decided to turn back and then off onto C to check out a few. The first was a ramshackle horror of a place called Happ's Pumpkin Patch. Fig described it as "the kind of place I would've loved if I was six" but I think at that age I would've found it terrifying. It was littered with refuse of all sorts--old machinery, strange statuary, weatherbeaten sheds--including two old schoolbuses which looked like exactly like the sort of place you would get murdered in a slasher film.
In fact, it dawned on us that the entire scenario--three city slickers heading down a shabby rural to a location recommended by "this woman I know from work"--was straight out of the Big Book of Horror Movie Clichés. Then when we saw signs advertising the "Pumpkindaze" festival in the neighbouring hamlet of Salem (whose hair salon is intriguingly named "Headhunters"), we just lost it. And that was before we found that one of the two restaurants at the end of the road in tiny Wilmot was a rambling house on the hill above town attached to a bunker-like cement building of uncertain function.
Of course, having just filled up at the orchard, we were in no mood for dinner. Despite the coworker's description, there was little of picturesque interest in little Wilmot and no cute shops (but both a dance and a yoga studio), so we decided to get the hell out of dodge before nightfall. The day concluded with a visit to the worst laid-out and least bargain-driven outlet mall any of us have ever been to. I walked away with $200 in clothing I desperately needed, but at the cost of our dinner hour, leading to a hurried cheese sandwich at home before I headed out to my first party of the evening.
That was our first stop and we were all a bit peckish. We were just going to get some food from a grillstand, but it lay only steps within a ticketed area, so we were politely asked to pay admission. We all bridled at the thought, since our interest in the assorted amusements was effectively nil, so we ended up in the sit-down restaurant at the very tail of the lunch rush. To our surprise, it was actually decent. Yeah, my potato pancake was undercooked on one side and the appled-studded coleslaw was too mayo-heavy, but the fried fish Fig and I shared was quite respectable, firm and not greasy nor too heavily-breaded.
Meanwhile, the drizzle was intensifying, so our shopping coincided with a rush indoors, leading to long lines and a struggle to find products. (For an apple-themed establishment, they sure make their apple butter perversely hard to find.) Happily, though, this concluded with the acquisition of--among many other things--a dozen apple cider donuts still warm from the fryer. At this point, we concluded that the rest of our day was simply gravy and retreated to the car to formulate a plan.
Fig had a comically vague hand-drawn map from a coworker listing various attractions nearby. We decided to turn back and then off onto C to check out a few. The first was a ramshackle horror of a place called Happ's Pumpkin Patch. Fig described it as "the kind of place I would've loved if I was six" but I think at that age I would've found it terrifying. It was littered with refuse of all sorts--old machinery, strange statuary, weatherbeaten sheds--including two old schoolbuses which looked like exactly like the sort of place you would get murdered in a slasher film.
In fact, it dawned on us that the entire scenario--three city slickers heading down a shabby rural to a location recommended by "this woman I know from work"--was straight out of the Big Book of Horror Movie Clichés. Then when we saw signs advertising the "Pumpkindaze" festival in the neighbouring hamlet of Salem (whose hair salon is intriguingly named "Headhunters"), we just lost it. And that was before we found that one of the two restaurants at the end of the road in tiny Wilmot was a rambling house on the hill above town attached to a bunker-like cement building of uncertain function.
Of course, having just filled up at the orchard, we were in no mood for dinner. Despite the coworker's description, there was little of picturesque interest in little Wilmot and no cute shops (but both a dance and a yoga studio), so we decided to get the hell out of dodge before nightfall. The day concluded with a visit to the worst laid-out and least bargain-driven outlet mall any of us have ever been to. I walked away with $200 in clothing I desperately needed, but at the cost of our dinner hour, leading to a hurried cheese sandwich at home before I headed out to my first party of the evening.