Chapter Text
“He would beg us to go every year,” Marcy had said when Patrick mentioned the festival during their last Sunday night FaceTime call with Patrick’s parents. “And we went every year, except the one year when Patrick’s appendix decided it had had enough.”
“Oh, but even then Patrick begged us to take him,” Clint had commented, grinning at the memory.
“Ok, I was seven and it was the only time of the year Mrs. Benson made her apple dumplings with the vanilla sauce.”
“Oh, man, those apple dumplings are world class. Her nephew and his wife make them now, and they are still so good. They even make an adult ‘vanilla-bourbon’ sauce you can purchase by the jar.”
“Clint buys 3 jars every year,” Marcy said with a laugh.
“So how ‘bout it, David? Want to go to my hometown harvest festival?”
David had been day-dreaming of drizzling vanilla-bourbon sauce on all his favorite crusty desserts.
“Um, I might need more convincing, but if buying some of that jarred sauce is included, I might be persuaded.”
Patrick kissed him on the cheek, excited to share the hospitality of his hometown with his husband.
—---
It was no use fighting it. David’s coiffure was no match for the October wind. So he conceded his lot and snuggled further into his husband’s embrace as the hay-filled wagon chugged up the hill to the festival grounds.
David was only slightly regretful that Patrick had convinced him to attend this germ infested fall fair with its hay bale maze, apple bobbing booths, and giant corn pit. The pouty smile and puppy eyes that almost always got Patrick what he wanted definitely had a part in the convincing. And maybe the promise of the world’s best funnel cakes and caramel apples outweighed the ungodly hour they had to leave the house on a day with a near freezing wind-chill factor. Either way, here they were, bundled up in scarves and pea-coats, Patrick with his toque, both ready to enjoy walking hand-in-hand as they experienced the autumn tradition from Patrick’s childhood.
“I want to start with the scarecrow stroll. There might even be some potential vendors who are participating this year.”
“Um, our agreement was food-activity-food-activity,” David replied. “What food will we be getting to enjoy as we take in the decorated gourds?”
“The Atikokan Kettle Corn Company usually has a booth pretty close to the front gate. We could buy a bag to ….” David placed a finger to Patrick’s lips.
“You had me at Kettle Corn.” David turned to look at his husband with his eyebrows raised. “But we will be buying separate bags.”
They arrived at the gate, purchased the kettle corn, and, after talking with Mr. Lankon about possibly selling the corn at the Apothecary, they began their walk along the costumed scarecrows.
“I think after this I want to try a funnel cake.”
“David!” Patrick laughed and shook his head.
“What!?!? You said this place had award winning funnel cakes. I just don’t want to ruin the whole ‘Harvest Festival’ experience we’re having here.”
“Ok, yes. We will get funnel cakes. But let’s just try to enjoy what we’re doing now before we jump ahead to our next fair food indulgence.” Patrick wrapped his arm around his husband’s waist, pulling him in and enjoying the warmth their bodies generated on the windy day.
They passed by several scarecrow entries, all with differing themes. Some had gone the fictional route with pumpkins painted as the Harry Potter trio, Elephant & Piggie, and Casper the friendly ghost. Others played on real people, a group of five named the Pumpkin Spice Girls, and one depicting the Queen at her Platinum Jubilee. One even reenacted the famous American Gothic painting.
As they got closer to the end, and as Patrick was examining the Field of Dreams scarecrow, David slowly tiptoed around the next entry.
“Oh. My. God.”
“What is it?”
Patrick looked up at David whose mouth was agape and whose hands were clasped to his chest. Staring at the scarecrow display that was next in line, he extended his hands, looked to Patrick and said, “How could they let this happen?”
Patrick, still not sure what David was seeing, jogged over to his husband’s side to take in the pumpkin creation.
Loose hay lay on the ground in a large circular pile. In the middle of it, a typical scarecrow post, shorter than usual, but tall enough to represent a person. The body wore a white button-up woman’s shirt with black feathers across the shoulders. The pumpkin head also had black feathers where hair would typically be, along with a well made up face consisting of a deep smokey eye, pointed, beaky nose, and red lips. An oversized clapper board to the left of the scarecrow read “Moira Rose: The Crows Have Eyes.”
Patrick couldn’t contain it. He tried to just smile, but a little laugh escaped, and David whipped his head around to stare at him, eyebrows raised to his hairline.
“It’s not funny Patrick! There is a pumpkin effigy of my mother at your hometown harvest festival!.” But even as he said it, David started laughing, too. “Oh, my mother would die!”
“Should we take a picture for her?”
“Absolutely not. She would call the board of the festival and insist on making appearances each year. But, let's take one to send to Alexis.”
After a few text exchanges with Alexis and some additional laughing with occasional guffaws, David and Patrick continued on from the Crowmageddon display and made their way to the vendor booths.
Vendor samples were almost unending. Honey and cheeses, lotions and serums. And the homespun textiles rivaled the cat hair scarves sold at the Apothecary. David ended up with several bags of merchandise, and a pocket full of business cards from potential vendors. It might have been a little farther than the usual suppliers, but spending time with Patrick’s family if they had to do occasional vender runs this far out would be worth it.
Their final stop was at the Benson Apple Dumpling stand where they purchased 5 jars of the vanilla-bourbon sauce and a dozen apple dumplings, four to eat with the Brewers when they got back to the farmstead, and the rest to take home and freeze for future eating.
“Wait, you’re David Rose!” Mrs. Benson came around in front of the booth. “We loved your mom’s most recent movie. Did you see our entry into the Scarecrow Stroll?”
David and Patrick looked at each other, each smirking.
“Why, yes, we did. It was a lovely tribute to my mother.”
“We’re so glad you liked it. We collected the feathers from crows that would leave them in our front yard.”
“You’re so resourceful,” David said, eyebrows raised in astonishment.
“Thank you for the sauce and dumplings,” Patrick said, trying to usher David away before anything more could be said about the Moira Rose Scarecrow.
“You’re welcome, boys. Thanks for stopping by.”
Patrick raised a hand to the Bensons as he and David walked back down the hill to the hay bale wagon that would take them back to their car.
“Well, that was unexpected.”
“Yup,” David replied. “Good thing this sauce is one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
“Agreed. Agreed.”