Lightside

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"Mister, mister, do you see that," said the boy standing beside me? He was six, perhaps seven, and pointing at a pumpkin. It weighed at least 300 kilos and was a montage of fall colours; orange, green, grey-silver and subtle browns.

"If they hollowed that out I could climb right inside," the boy gushed, twisting his baseball cap in his hands.

Excited? Decidedly. And filled with a joy only kids understand.

I did not know this boy. We were just two people in a maze of people lining the curb of a small Ontario town caught up in its annual harvest celebrations. Scenes such as this are common; save this one has a twist. Giant pumpkins.

Eleven years ago, Bill Greer, a Wellington town elder and visionary decided his town should have an agricultural festival to mark the golden season and the region's main industry.

During his life, Bill grew pumpkins that often exceeded 500 kilos in weight. His sons carry on the tradition, but have yet to outdo their dad.

My young, chatty acquaintance ran off into the crowd and I wandered the main street. It was typical, classic Canadisn countryside. Old Ford trucks, weary with use, a vintage MG, a Buick displaying an abundance of rusting chrome sat empty as the town folk mingled with repeated greetings.

The festive air coupled with sounds and the scent of fall combined to generate a feeling of joy. A waft of wood smoke drifted by. Is there any other season equals fall's magic?

This mood left me happy, smiling, and content to greet friend and stranger alike. It was impossible to be anything but part of the scene. Especially in close proximity to the various booths dotting the park and area. There folks sold handcrafted goods, delectable eatables, knitted goods and artworks.

Oddly, artists are an often-ignored treasure of rural Ontario. Yet few small towns lack a vibrant segment of residents who paint, carve, mould or in some other way add to a community's total wealth.

I bit into an apple, just hours off the tree, and luxuriated in the bounty offered to all. It is impossible to not be caught up in the buzz of folks just plain having fun.

Somewhere during my wanderings, my youthful pal from earlier that day sauntered up and asked "Who won the biggest pumpkin?" A good question, but I did not know the answer.

"Heck," he replied, and then scurried off to find out. The sticky candy apple he had been gnawing brushed the hair of a woman as he slid by. Hair and sticky toffee combined, held fast and the woman yelled.

The boy never slowed and, as the apple pulled free, darted away to be lost in the crowd. The woman, somewhat flustered, fluffed her hair and sauntered off with husband in tow.

Later, as the temperature dropped in conjunction with the ambient light, the throng thinned and workers began dismantling the booths. Others scoured the park for debris. Community spirit and activity thrived.

Another fall festival had ended. A gentle breeze coming off the lake stirred the air and caused fallen leaves, bits of paper to dance in the waning light.

What a great day.