Dorris Ranch Living History Farm, Springfield

It’s harvest festival time again at Dorris Ranch, which means the avenues are lined with carved pumpkins–very charming–and a sign promises “haunted hayrides.” I really don’t understand the appeal of these things, especially if they take place in the back of a flatbed truck. Hay is not especially comfortable. And what exactly is the haunted part? Do ghosts ride along in the truck, a la Haunted Mansion? Now, a haunted beanbag ride, that would be nice. Or a haunted packing peanuts ride would also be fun.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Dorris Ranch Living History Farm, Springfield

I keep thinking there must be some garden or house work to do that I’m forgetting but really there isn’t. The floor is swept, the bathtub is scuz-free, the bolted spinach is on its way to compost. L. has to make a website and be industrious (Mr. T sez: I pity the non-Drupal-usin’ foo!), but the dogs and I are free to take a long walk under the hazelnut trees on this lovely morning.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Dorris Ranch & Living History Farm, Springfield

The cute family with two little kids — one trapped within the armor of a Baby Bjorn — seemed to be enjoying their picnic on the grass in the sunshine, but it prompted a long, hard look at the issue for L. and me.  Fortunately we agree that while the idea of a picnic is sound, the reality is less so, what with the uncomfortable ground and bugs and having to pack and haul all your bits. Eating outdoors on the porch is a nice compromise and plus you can include dogs and not have to worry about them trodding in the egg salad.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Dorris Ranch Living History Farm, Springfield

I am very good at strategizing what I will do with the poxy waste that is my backyard, but I am less skilled at fulfillment. Even on a day like this when all the sunshine makes it seem easier to get things done. Laundry, clutter management, a batch of bread, the Sunday Times, check. A loop around the hazelnut groves, check. It is only just February, and the ground is still locked in winter’s proverbial embrace, and the thought of all that cold mud on my hands kept me in the horticultural planning stages today. And then it was time to head south for the Super Bowl party. Too bad. Maybe next weekend.

 

Dorris Ranch Living History Farm, Springfield

Dorris Ranch is yet another reason to love Springfield. Poor Springfield gets a bad rap, dismissed by snooty Eugene as “Springtucky.” I know what they’re getting after–more meth per capita than teeth, for example–but it’s just not a very clever play on words. If you’re going to make fun of something, at least be smart. I’m too busy appreciating my adopted city’s many attractions to come up with an alternative, though. What it lacks in dog boutiques, it makes up for in antiquey junk stores and leafy trails. The hazelnut groves in Dorris Ranch are like a miracle–food, growing right on the trees!

 

Dorris Ranch Living History Farm, Springfield

Halloween Horrors:

1. Fear that all these tents and chairs and hay bales mean another wedding is going to get us kicked out. (Relief; it’s just the Haunted Hayride.)

2. Tombstones erected to add atmosphere (Jack O. Lantern–Squashed Before His Time; Ima Spook; Skella Ton)

3. Ramona with the joolies.

4. A painfully thin woman walking vigorously, arms swinging, her emaciated legs barely visible through her baggy sweatpants.

5. A Lochmead Dairy half & half container-full-abandoned in the weeds, bloated like a corpse. Jones maneuvered it into his mouth and carried it all the way back down the hill, across Main Street, and through the neighborhood back home, where it was promptly treated like biohazard.