"Your such a stereotypical white soccer mom" my kids say to me when I say that I've been to the pumpkin patch.  Maybe so.  I raised three white kids who all played soccer so I guess I fit the bill.  And yet there is more to a pumpkin spiced latte, wellington boots, a scarf and vest snapping photos of large round pumpkins in a bin.  I come to the patch for photos yes.  But because like long ago when painters painted fruits and wine still life paintings, I can admire the subtlety of the differences in the form of the pumpkins.  I like the way the fog settles in among the orange globes in the field of dying vines sending vapors of mist curling along the tendrils.  The variations of color from creamy white Lumina pumpkins to the grey sage Jarrah dale pumpkins and then the range of orange from soft peach fairytale pumpkin to the vibrant burnt orange of sugar pumpkins all create a stunning montage for me. One thinks of pumpkins and sees only fall décor but I see more than just a pretty decoration.  They are unusually complex.  I can run my hands over the surface of a pumpkin but I can't close my eyes and describe it.  They aren't necessarily round or smooth.  There are imperfections and variations of color along with bumps and ridges and sizes.  To grow them, you need patience as with all plants and room, lots of room for their tendrils and vines.