The sun gives the crisp, dying grass a golden, unearthly glow. The wind weaves through the blades, over the field and into the dark tree line. A small rabbit makes his way through the pasture, only knowing where he is going when he hops higher than the grass. It’s a Saturday in October, but no animal or plant would know that; to them it’s just another autumnal day in paradise.
Suddenly, and without a sound, an orange blur descends from the sky, crushing the rabbit mid-hop and leaving nothing but a crater of fur, dirt, and seeds.
Such are (probably) the unintended consequences of a man’s “pumpkin cannon.”
I can’t say with any bit of certainty that that’s exactly what happened this past weekend at Luther Farms in Ohio. Abby, Liz, Robin, and I stopped there, en route to Cleveland, for some de rigueur fall festivities. The farm had everything that you might expect: piles of pumpkins ready for carving, mountains of formed hay for climbing, and gallons of apple cider for buying (and then drinking). Amongst these agrarian staples, Luther Farms also has its share of oddities–the most noticeable being the massive, Howitzer-sized pumpkin cannon that overlooks the corn field.
