Lots of lemonade, a lack of hippos: Mike and family visit Almonte’s Tin Barn Market

Antiquing in Almonte can be fun for kids with a visit to the Tin Barn Market

Mike Reynolds (blog/Twitter) is an Ottawa born-and-raised husband and father to two beautiful girls. He’s obsessed with making sure his daughter says ‘daddy and mommy’ and not ‘mommy and daddy’ and with finding junk he thinks will one day be considered an antique. He also blogs about his admitted cluelessness when it comes to raising children.

I don’t think it’s a secret that parents are always on the lookout for things to do with their children. I likewise don’t think I’m opening Al Capone’s vault a la Geraldo Rivera when I suggest that parents also like to do things with their kids that they, as parents, will also enjoy.

Free lemonade greets guests

So as much fun as it is for a kid to play in a jungle gym filled with balls and rope walls, parents still harbour a little resentment as they force their way through plastic-mat-lined tunnels chasing their toddler.

We recently threw caution to the wind and decided to make a visit to Almonte, not more than 25 minutes outside of the city centre to visit the Tin Barn Market (on Facebook and on Twitter). While there is certainly no lack of other interesting things to do on a weekend day in Almonte, our focus was 100 per cent on visiting the Tin Barn Market.

Almonte on its own is a pretty cool place to check out with it’s abundance of bridges, hills, antique shops and nearly hidden food joints. The Tin Barn Market is no less cool with a facade that shouts “come inside of me and find antique stuff that you didn’t know you needed but that you actually do for sure need. And oh we have free lemonade!”

Being that we went near opening (10 am) on a Sunday morning, we had very good access to their summer pop-up shop. And while it isn’t the biggest shop going by square footage, the ladies at the Tin Barn Market pack the items in, hanging some from the ceiling, some on antique-crate-created shelves and some by stacking old items on top of other old items.

Leah takes over the artistic direction of the welcome chalkboard

While I could go on for some time about how great the wares were (if you’re interested in vintage items for your kitchen, dining room or backyard, this place is a must), what made the biggest impression on me was how friendly the owners were and how welcome they were to a 2.5-year-old girl who, for all they knew, could have been more damaging to their recently opened shop than the Tasmanian Devil.

“Daddy, chalkboard,” Leah said to me within seconds of entering the shop. And she was right. The chalkboards were being updated with the day’s deals. Leah, who had never met the owners before, went and sat down by the chalkboard writer and started critiquing their work, noting that there were not enough hippopotamuses on the chalkboard.

Having never been told that a billboard didn’t have enough hippopotamus, it was impossible to argue with her, and within 30 seconds, they had allowed Leah to redesign their board. She crossed out their letters, drew a hippopotamus and walked around the store pointing at everything.

Through it all, the owners encouraged her to explore, even offering up glasses of homemade lemonade.

While the hospitality was second to none, I must also report on the shopping. I went into our journey committed to buying at least one thing, but having no idea what that one things would be. We came away with four things, all of which are already prominently display at our house.

An old metal sugar container, an old mini croquet set, what I’m told is called a cake cloche and a pair of salvaged letter R’s for the girls’ room were the pieces that caught our eyes. And while normally I take great enjoyment out of the bartering side of antique hunting, the prices on each and every item we turned over surpassed my bargain price expectations.

Some of the wares at the Tin Barn Market in Almonte

But every shopping excursion we make needs to have a budget and even though Leah exceeded our behaviour expectations, we couldn’t buy her everything we wanted.

“Daddy, bring the chalkboard and lemonade in the car too,” she demanded after I had paid for our items and she began to understand that we were leaving sans chalk.

“No Leah, we’re going to let them use the chalkboard.”

“Then can we take home the lemonade? It’s free, just ask them.”

“I know it’s free but the glass container it’s in isn’t free, plus we need to leave some for other people.”

“Ask them to take it out of the container then and put it in a bag. Other people can drink water.”

“We’ll get you ice cream if you leave without the chalkboard.”

“Thank you Daddy.”

With our purchases safely tucked under our arms and far away from Leah’s grasp, we left the shop with promises to our children and ourselves that we’d return again. I can’t suggest strongly enough that if you’re a fan of vintage and a fan of conversation, or a fan of vintage conversation, the trip to the Tin Barn Market will be worth your while.

Oh, and they share their building with Baker Bob. And who doesn’t love fresh baking?

Sounds like a day trip worthy of any urban dweller! Check out more about things to see and visit in Almonte here.

A trip through the past: Antiquing in Greely with Mike Reynolds

Mike Reynolds (blog/Twitter) is an Ottawa born-and-raised husband and father to two beautiful girls. He’s obsessed with making sure his daughter says ‘daddy and mommy’ and not ‘mommy and daddy’ and with finding junk he thinks will one day be considered an antique. He also blogs about his admitted cluelessness when it comes to raising children. 

When you have a two-and-half-year-old who touches everything she sees and a three-month-old who loves to cry when she’s asked to do something she doesn’t want to do, there’s really only one place to spend a peaceful hour: an antique shop where there are  items lined up perfectly for a child to destroy them.

Clearly, that statement is a little crazy, but when you’re obsessed with all things antique and you have access to an antique shop in your small town village, the attraction is often too strong to resist.

So it has been for me and my family on a number of occasions with Aubrey’s Antiques, a not quite small but not quite big antique shop located just outside Ottawa in the lovely town of Greely.

If you’ve never been to an antique shop, or if you’ve been to a local flea market and have only seen a few old hockey sticks passing off as the antique section, prepare to be amazed at the sheer number of things that your grandparents cooked with, used to clean up, played with, stored stuff in, slept on or smoked from.

When you go in with a child, it doesn’t take them long to pick out the stuff they find the most interesting.

Leah's Mickey Mouse

“Daddy, look, Mickey Mouse!” Leah yells, pointing to one of many old Mickey figurines, dolls and posters.

“Cool, we can’t touch them though.”

“Yes I can, he’s right there,” she says matter of factly, proving to me that you should never set a child up to prove they can do something you’ve said they can’t.

“I mean you shouldn’t touch it. If you don’t touch it, I’ll buy you ice cream.” I knew setting myself up so early in the visit might cost a pretty penny by the time things were all said and done, but I really wanted to be able to look around at all the old stuff and was willing to direct some funds to ice cream if it meant I got to find the right antique.

I have many preferences when it comes to looking through Aubrey’s. Library card catalogues, hickory shafted golf clubs, Coca Cola memorabilia, old ice skates, Christmas advertising, old cameras, railway station lamps, you name it, and this visit is no different. There’s no ‘best way’ to wind your way through Aubrey’s, you just need to do the classic ‘keep your head on a swivel’ because there are items everywhere – inside the furniture, under the furniture and hanging from the ceiling.

And when you get to the back of the building and think you’ve seen everything, you see a note on the back door informing you to check out their shed in the back for more items. Even on the way to the shed you can stop and admire numerous gasoline and oil signs and even a gas pump or two if you look closely enough.

The shed is even bigger than the first building and is filled with antique and reproduction furniture as well as old movie posters, croquet sets, typewriters (my personal passion) and much more.

This here, there and everywhere display makes visiting with a child all the more exciting, and three minutes in, I’m wishing I had taken my chances and let Leah play with the Mickey Mouse stuff, assuming at worst I’d be buying three of four items.

As it is, I’m trying to carry her through the furniture as I do my best not to miss anything. I take careful stock of the prices and try to calculate in my head what kind of packages I can put together in order to get a better price.

I consider throwing Leah over my shoulder to carry her, but that would leave me without one hand to turn things over. In a place like this, as I’ve mentioned before, it’s very important to turn things over.

Santa chocolate moulds

This particular visit I spend a lot of time looking, as always, at the typewriters in the back building, some Coca Cola Christmas advertising featuring the big man himself, old honey tins, antique baking moulds, a Fitting Room sign, a pair of ice skates and some shipping crates out in front of the building.

Leah was particularly engrossed with the Santa memorabilia.

“Daddy, if you buy him will he bring presents to our house everyday?” she asked hopefully.

“I doubt it, this Santa is made of tin.”

“Santa is made of Christmas spirit, not tin daddy. Buy him so we can get presents every day.”

“I don’t have enough money to buy Santa and ice cream Leah so what’s it going to be?”

I hoped here that Leah either wouldn’t make the connection that if Santa did in fact bring gifts he’d be able to bring her ice cream or that she’d know she had to go to bed before Santa would bring the gift, delaying ice cream by a whole day.

“Oh, I want the ice cream.”

A card catalogue with which Mike has long been obsessed

While my redirection managed to get me out of a purchase, there have been plenty of other occasions where my love of an item has overpowered my love of the dollars in my bank account. To date I’ve become the fourth or fifth parent to a number of items, including an Acme dress form, a 1960′s red Postbox from Montreal, a red sleigh, a few cameras and more than a few golf clubs.

This time, I’m focused on the Fitting Room sign which I’m sure, even if I can’t picture it in my head at the moment, will look good somewhere in my home. Even if that means I need to build a fitting room addition to accomodate it…

As usual, the owner, Ken Aubrey, is open for discussion on price, and once an acceptable number for the both of us comes up, I’ve got myself a new piece of decor.

What I love about this place is that every time I come in, I’m finding something new. One visit I’ll drool over an apothecary cabinet and the next the drool will be caused by a turn of the century (the 1900 one not the 2000 one) bicycle. The constant influx of new items is a direct result of Ken’s tireless (but what I assume to be exhilarating) scavenging throughout the year.

If you have any interest in adding a one (or at best two) of a kind piece to your home decor or you just want to drive out to Greely, then stop by Aubrey’s. And say hi to me, because odds are I’ll be there too.

You’re making us want to go antiquing, Mike! We love old-new stuff, too. Have any of you been to Aubrey’s Antiques? Tell us about your best find!

Chilli, s’mores-filled children and ripped pants: Mike Reynolds and family go curling

Mike Reynolds (blog/Twitter) is an Ottawa born-and-raised husband and father to two beautiful girls. He’s obsessed with making sure his daughter says ‘daddy and mommy’ and not ‘mommy and daddy’ and with finding junk he thinks will one day be considered an antique. He also blogs about his admitted cluelessness when it comes to raising children. 

When you have the chance to live in a small village, you quickly come to realize there aren’t many places that define that village better than its curling club.The Metcalfe Curling Club, located, not surprisingly, in my small hometown of Metcalfe which is but a stone’s throw away from downtown Ottawa, epitomizes small town curling. Hundreds of members flock there every week to play in one of the many leagues the club offers: the men’s league, the woman’s league, the mixed league, the ‘competitive’ fixed league or, most social of all, the weekend bonspiel.No matter what league though, the basic tenets of curling all apply – be relatively kind to one another, listen to your skip when they’re talking to you (but when they look away do what you want), and be sure to buy one another drinks when the game is done.

Like small towns themselves, curling clubs are steeped in history, and on February 17 and 18, the Metcalfe Curling Club honoured these traditions with the 13th annual Then and Now bonspiel.

What sets this event apart from the myriad of other bonspiels that dot Metcalfe’s weekend calendar is that for the Then and Now, half of each game is played outside, much like it would have been a hundred  years ago.

This was the fourth time I had participated in the spiel, which is made up of teams with curlers and non-curlers alike.

Bonspiel: Day one
We started this year’s journey on the “Then” side, a cleared pond in the backyard of one of Metcalfe’s earliest settling families. With above freezing temperatures plaguing the spiel throughout the day, we played on a surface that was equal parts frozen and unfrozen water.In a spiel where half of the game is curled outdoors and the other half indoors, the outdoor ice is the great equalizer. A person who has curled for 35 years is just as good as someone throwing their first-ever curling rock if that first ever rock is being thrown through a puddle.While the indoor portion is more likely to produce low scoring games, the outdoor elements opens up the possibility of much bigger ends. With every rock thrown by the other team, you try and pretend you’re not too worried of giving up a big end because “it’s just a game,” while inside you’re thinking about how you’ll be as embarrassed as a naked person in church if you give up seven points to a bunch of country folk who have had more beers than hours of sleep leading up to the game.“Hey Mike, take a look at this,” a skip on the other sheet who had a bunch of rocks in play called out as if to confirm my worries. This skip was the kind of guy whose team was known for being nice and for regularly supporting our club bar than for making triple take-outs.“Looks like you guys are doing okay over there,” I called back, noting the amount of rocks in play on their sheet.

“First win ever as a skip,” he called back to me. “You might want to get your camera out.”

He said all this while holding a can of beer in hand.

Mike's ripped jeans after a day of curling

A not-quite-as-lopsided experience occurred in our own game, as our more experienced indoor curling team muddled our way to a tie. Highlights of the outdoor portion included colourful, old fashioned curling outfits and equipment, me ripping a massive hole in my completely inappropriate skinny jean pants, a rock being thrown three feet past the rings (causing it to be sent almost to the bottom of the pond), and watching each team carry around their custom packed coolers to ensure the traditional sharing of the drinks could take place outdoors.

The inside game was a little more traditional and therefore a little less highlight filled. Although we came away with the victory, the memories of the night were unquestionably the outdoor curling and the indoor, post-game chilli.

The chilli has long been a post-game tradition for the Then and Now spiel, and each year I’ve challenged myself to eat multiple bowls of the hottest variety offered. Armed with a tall glass of Keith’s Dark brew, I successfully took down my two bowls, even if the heat was apparently showing a bit.

“Mike, do you have Typhoid Fever or something?” one of my teammates asked as I worked on bowl number two. “You’re sweating a little more than I’m comfortable with.”

“I think it’s just the wool of the curling sweater. It must have come from a Northern sheep.
maybe an Alaskan one,” I said back.

Nevertheless, I survived the chilli, made it home for the night and started resting up for day number two.

Bonspiel: Day two
The next day, we again started our game on the “Then” sheet of ice which had improved slightly overnight thanks to the -5 temperatures. For us, the outdoor part was a family affair, with my brother, dad and friend playing on my team and with my mother, wife and two kids (including my 17-day-old daughter) coming to watch and, more importantly, eat s’mores by the fire at the pond.

Day two's curling outfit

Wearing an outfit that included my custom made curling sweater, a vintage curling tam and a pair of pants much more conducive to bending over, we stormed to an early lead, taking advantage of the lack of water covering our playing surface.

Leah and one of her beloved s'mores

Both the team and the kids came away from the Then part feeling pretty good – the team because of the early lead and the kids because of the six or seven pounds of chocolate and marshmallow they had ingested.

“Daddy, I had chocolate,” Leah tried to explain to me after my game, as though the layer of chocolate all over her face wouldn’t have given me a big enough clue.

“I guess you did. Did you watch daddy curl on the ice?”

“I burned marshmallows in the fire too,” she said again, making sure I didn’t assume anything about what appeared to be a pair of squishy, sticky white gloves covering her hands.

“Yeah, I bet you did and I bet they were delicious. Do you know that daddy won his game?”

“I didn’t know you were playing daddy, do you want me to burn you some chocolate and marshmallow in the fire? That will make you happy even if you had a bad game.”

“I said I won Leah, I didn’t have a bad game.”

“I know, I just wanted more chocolate. I was going to eat yours anyway daddy.”

The second half, or the “Now part,” of our game, went just as well. We came away with a victory in our second and last game of the spiel, meaning we’d get a pretty early crack at the prize table.

But the prize table is a secondary perk of the Then and Now spiel. Dinner, this time, was the real must-have moment of the night.

Each team was assigned a dish, be it  casserole, a salad, a dessert etc. to bring to the potluck feast, meaning most teams came armed with their specialty dish. I got to eat six or four or five varieties of meatballs, pasta salad, fried beans and cheesecakes. A true veteran of the curling potluck, the buns went in my pockets, the salads were piled one on top of the other and the plate was only considered full when meatballs started falling onto the floor.

Mike's potluck plate reaches maximum capacity

Needless to say, come speech and prize time, the majority of us curlers had unbuttoned our pants (easier for me since I was already working with a ripped pair of jeans) and watered our stomachs with some draft beer.

Prizes ranged from iPod speakers to dinner and a movie packages to garden gnomes – a little better than the typical weekend spiel. We said our thanks and picked our prizes (mine being the dinner and a movie package) and got ready to get back home to the children, very satisfied with our tied-for-third-place showing.

I would like to hat tip and raise a curling broom to the Cooper and Woods families for hosting yet another wonderful Then and Now spiel and for making sure those who wouldn’t normally feel comfortable playing against experienced curlers feel like they belonged and could return again next year.

I know for sure that our team will be. If you’d like a once-in-a-lifetime curling experience of your own, you should check it out too.

This post made us giggle and smile (and kicked off a killer craving for s’mores!). We’ll have to check this out next year! Have any of you ever participated in the “Then and Now” curling bonspiel? What’s your favourite curling memory?

Finding the perfect imperfect Christmas tree with the Reynolds family

Mike Reynolds (blog/Twitter) is an Ottawa born-and-raised husband,  father to one and soon to be second. He’s obsessed with making sure his daughter says ‘daddy and mommy’ and not ‘mommy and daddy’ and with finding junk he thinks will one day be considered an antique. He also blogs about his admitted cluelessness when it comes to raising a child.

In the words of one of the most revered Christmas experts of our age, Clark Griswold, cutting down the Christmas tree is one of “the most enduring traditions of the season are best enjoyed in the warm embrace of kith and kin.”

Our family wholeheartedly agrees with this statement, so our tree hunting day is an important one. We’ve been to a few tree lots over the past few years. Some specialize in having perfect looking Christmas trees, while others focus more on the tree-getting experience.

Until last year, we’d never found one that married the two experiences perfectly. In our family, the perfectly shaped tree is not the traditional, upside down triangle but rather a more bulbous, branchy thing that looks like a character from SpongeBob SquarePants.

Thomas Tree Farm

But last year, as I browsed through an issue of Chatelaine for whatever reason, I found a small story about the Thomas Tree Farm in North Gower. They promoted themselves as “more than just trees; it’s a whole experience.” With a one-year-old daughter, we decided we’d try it out.

Last year it was freezing cold, but we loved it. We loved it so much that, for the first time, we decided we could go back to the same Christmas tree farm two years in a row.

Thomas Tree Farm is open seven days a week and opens at 9 a.m. on weekends. We did our best to arrive as close to the start time as we could, assuming that two weeks before Christmas would be a popular time to pick out a tree.

Andrea and Leah

We were correct, and found one of the last few spots in the parking lot, saving us a few minutes’ walk. While we were a little surprised and more than a little overwhelmed with the number of parents walking around with their snowsuit wearing children, any negative sentiment was quickly washed away as we walked deeper into the woods.

It took but a few steps to remember why we wanted to come back to this place. You’re greeted by the smell of campfire and freshly cut trees, and, even though the place had only been open for 45 minutes, we already saw happy children unknowingly getting in the way of parents trying to strap massive green trees to the roofs of their small cars.

You can also see more groups of families standing by the fire with their complimentary (so long as you get a tree) hot chocolate and cookie. A tempting treat, but first, the tree must be hunted.

The Thomas Tree Farm boasts fields and fields of scotch pine, spruce and balsam fir and you also have the option of buying a pre-cut Fraser fir. Since we didn’t travel all that way for a pre-cut tree, we lined up for the next wagon ride out into the fields.

The traditional ‘can I get us all in the picture without asking a stranger if they’ll take the picture for us’ picture

Even if you see a wagon pulling away as you approach the line (as we did) the wait is but minutes long, as they must have wagons being built in some back shed there seem to be so many of them. When ours pulls up, we climb aboard, hold tight and try taking the traditional ‘can I get us all in the picture without asking a stranger if they’ll take the picture for us’ picture.

Once that’s out of the way, we marvel at the trees out in the fields. The trip starts by passing the trees you’ll be cutting down in 10 years and the wagon slowly wheels us up to the big fields of six to nine foot trees.

We finally stopped amidst a clump of trees all tagged with correlating blue, red, or green tags. We wanted a spruce and headed to the blue tag section, a borrowed saw in hand. Trying to remember my dad’s safety tips for handling a saw, we nimbly made our way through the trees (made easier by the lack of snow), searching for the perfectly imperfect Christmas tree.

Since Leah is now old enough to have a say, we strategically directed her towards the trees we liked the most. When we finally found one that looked just big enough to not fit in our living room, we asked her if this was the one.

“Santa,” she answered, and that answer was enough for us.

Mike and Leah

Lacking athletic skill, I crawled along the ground to get a good look at the base and started sawing away, assuming I had lumberjack ancestors somewhere in my lineage. The large thud I was expecting when I finally made it through the base never came, but when the tree almost floated to the ground, we realized the choice was the right one.

“Do you think it will fit in the house,” my wife Andrea asked.

“Not a chance,” I replied.

“Will we have to trim it to make it fit?”

“Not a chance.”

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

“Santa,” Leah confirmed.

We dragged our tree back to the wagon line, waited for our tree taxi to arrive, hurled ours up amongst the much less impressive trees other families had chosen, and made our way back to the campfire, cookies and hot chocolate.

Mike shows off his lumberjack skills

Andrea and Leah slurped their drinks and nommed their cookies as I sped the tree through the processing line. At Thomas Tree Farm they give you a courtesy tree shake that ensures Chip and Dale don’t make their way home with you, and then bag it to make throwing it on top of your car a less difficult experience.

And so, as Leah and Andrea participated in the wintery fun, I dragged the tree over to the car, and psyched myself up for my least favourite part: the roof securing. I threw the tree up onto the car and then just waited. For what, I wasn’t sure. Finally, catching on to my ineptitude, Andrea offered to help me bind it to the roof.

She quickly girl guide knotted it and assured me we’d be good to get it home. As we pulled out of the lot, we noticed the number of cars had nearly tripled since we arrived and that the parking had made its way onto the road.

There was no doubt that we’d be back again next year.

We love how much this reminds us of Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation. Sounds like you had loads of fun, Mike. This is making us even more excited for the holidays to begin! 

Do any of you have a favourite Christmas tree farm? Do you utilize your lumberjack skills to acquire the perfect imperfect tree? Let us know!

A trip to the Third World Bazaar with the Reynolds family

Mike Reynolds (blog/Twitter) is an Ottawa born-and-raised husband,  father to one and soon to be second. He’s obsessed with making sure his daughter says ‘daddy and mommy’ and not ‘mommy and daddy’ and with finding junk he thinks will one day be considered an antique. He also blogs about his admitted cluelessness when it comes to raising a child.

Have you ever thought to yourself “I think what our living room really needs is a 200 pound elephant sculpture carved out of one piece of wood?”

We regularly ponder such things in our house, so I always assume the same thing happens to families all over the Ottawa area. We recently made the decision to see what such a piece of furniture would look like close-up when we took a visit to the Third World Bazaar, a “we have everything from everywhere in the world” kind of market held annually in October and November near Manotick.

The Third World Bazaar is found at the corner of Mitch Owens Road and Manotick Station Road

There’s something for everyone at the Third World Bazaar, no matter how eclectic your taste.

We visited the bazaar this past weekend. It was a typically chilly Sunday and the three of us were bundled up as though it were December. Previous trips had taught us that the cold from outside often made its way into the modestly enclosed buildings that house the majority of the wares.

Once we navigated across the bumpy grass parking lot, we made our way toward the almost open-air building. Before we even step inside, we’re greeted by the too-big-to-fit-in-the-building pieces, like the giant elephant. You could spend an entire day looking at the driftwood sculptures and one-of-a-kind cabinets that dot the ground and line the walls.

All day that is, if you weren’t spending every minute worrying that your daughter was going to rip off a monkey hand and force you into purchasing it.

Eventually we made our way into the larger indoor area. The market areas are sectioned off mainly by décor. Taking in the building from the entrance, the impression you get is that you’re on a tour of all the crafts that have ever been made in the world.

The musical instrument section

In one corner you’ll find musical instruments from international destinations. If you’re traveling with a child like we did, make sure to think about how much noise the instrument will make if your child plays with it 20 hours a day. Similarly, if you’re a 30-something like me, try to resist the urge to purchase a den-den daiko just because Daniel used one in the Karate Kid.

Part of the massive scarf collection

In another section you’ll find all the scarves one could ever imagine owning. My wife, Andrea, has a very powerful scarf imagination. If you’re weary of walking in small spaces or of elbowing people gently to get from one place to another, you might want to avoid this room all together. If you do, you’re missing out on some of the best priced, won’t-find-anywhere-else scarves in Ottawa, though.

Then there’s our favourite section: the Christmas one. The room is filled with different representations of Santa, big and small reindeer, fat and skinny snowmen, silver and gold stars as well as any other icon you can imagine associating with the holidays.

Christmas ornaments

On this journey, Leah took particular interest in the many reindeer (or moose as she refers to them) that populated the Christmas section.

“Daddy, mooses,” she would say to me over and over, falling prey to one of the most ridiculous pluralisation mistakes in our language.

“You mean meese,” I try to correct her.

“No, it’s moose,” my wife tells me as people bump through on their way to the checkout.

“It must be meese, one is called a moose, how can two also be called moose, it just doesn’t make sense,” I reply.

“It’s moose,” she says again.

“Mooses daddy,” Leah persists again, and I realize who cares? Let’s buy two and figure it out at home.

The market holds many more treasures as well and you won’t be disappointed if you decide to stop by for yourself. The prices are great and the people running the show are even better. I guarantee that you’ll come away with a one-of-a-kind item.

The bazaar is open just two more weekends this year – November 11 to 13 and November 18 to 20, so be sure you get out there while you still can.

Finally, and this is important, make sure you treat yourself to some apple cider and maybe even a bag of fries as you take your leave. It will be the perfect wrap-up to your day.

Sounds like a great weekend adventure, Mike, although frankly we’re a little disappointed you didn’t walk away with a 200 pound wooden elephant (maybe next weekend, huh?). Have any of you ever uncovered any treasures at the Third World Bazaar?

Searching for the perfect pumpkin with the Reynolds family

Mike Reynolds (blog/Twitter) is an Ottawa born-and-raised husband,  father to one and soon to be second. He’s obsessed with making sure his daughter says ‘daddy and mommy’ and not ‘mommy and daddy’ and with finding junk he thinks will one day be considered an antique. He also blogs about his admitted cluelessness when it comes to raising a child.

If you’re the kind of family that counts down to all the major decorating days of the year (Christmas and Halloween being the two biggest in our family) then you’re likely a family that thrives on finding the perfect pumpkin.

And if you thrive on finding the perfect pumpkin, then there aren’t many better places to look than Millers’ Farm & Market, located just south of Ottawa in Manotick.

While you might think that Manotick is a little far to go in order to buy a pumpkin, there’s more to this pumpkin farm than big orange fruits (or do you consider it a vegetable?).

Once you’ve parked your car on the grassy parking lot (a novelty unto itself), you’re greeted by an astounding number of pumpkins and gourds, all laid out for the public to marvel at. The gourds can provide hours, or at least many minutes, of fun, and we made it a family competition to see who could find the gourd most shaped like a Sesame Street character.

Mike and Leah playing in the bales of hay

There are also the hay bales that kids can climb up on and jump off as parents watch, horrified by how dirty a hay bale can truly be. Get there on a particularly wet and muddy day to see how much fun your kid can have going from white clothing to brown clothing.

Once the kids have had enough fun in the hay, it’s time to move to the hayride where, although they’ll get even dirtier, they’ll get to be pulled behind a big tractor into the pumpkin patch itself. Families who choose to skip this step can still buy one of the many pre-picked pumpkins, but where’s the fun in that? Plus you don’t get a lollipop if you don’t do the tractor ride.

By missing out on the tractor ride, you’re also missing the chance to explore the small building full of antiques. You can look through old advertising signs, mason jars and, something we also left with, old rocking horses. It’s a great way to spend a few minutes while everyone else climbs over pumpkins and bales of hay.

But of course, the reason you come to the pumpkin patch is to go out and find the perfect pumpkin—the one you see and wonder how everyone else could have passed it by. The elusive Great Pumpkin.

The tractor ride is only about five minutes, but they’re minutes you’ll spend being amazed that pumpkins just grow on the ground like that. You’ll pass an acres-large corn maze that you’d be too embarrassed to try because you know you wouldn’t find your way out. You’ll slosh your way through large puddles of mud and you’ll try and spot your pumpkin from 100 metres away.

The tractor drops you off in the middle of the mud field and you’re given directions.

“Pick your pumpkin,” we’re told by the tractor driver before he heads back to pick up the next batch of pumpkiners.

“Any pumpkin?” we ask.

“If you can carry it, it’s yours.”

And then it’s time to get to work.

Leah Reynolds, master pumpkin picker

Should you bring a child with you, be warned that you need to have an explanation ready as to why the pumpkin that just got run over by the tractor isn’t the best pumpkin for jack-o-lantern making. For some reason, children seem drawn to the macabre site of a squashed pumpkin, seeds oozing out around it. One of the many explained mysteries of childhood.

What worked for us was a little bit of parental persuasion (which, while we give ourselves heaps of credit for, isn’t that tough with a not-quite two-year-old).

“Is this the one you picked,” my wife asks my daughter, showing her a pumpkin that we both like. We’re really distracting her long enough for me to carefully drape some vines over the dead-looking pumpkin she had previously wanted.

“Yesh,” she answers in her cute kid voice, looking behind her to ensure that the squashed pumpkin was nothing more than a dream. Victory is ours.

The magic of the pumpkin search sticks with you as you trundle over to the tractor and make your way back to the greeting area where you wait in line with the other pumpkin searchers to pay for your find. You hold on tight to make sure nobody spots how nice yours is and tries to take it from you. Depending on the size of your pumpkin you can pay anywhere between $3 and $10 dollars, but you’re also taking home the hour-plus worth of fun you’ve just had.

What’s more is that Millers’ Farm and Market is open year round, with equally family friendly activities to take part in throughout the seasons. But that’s for another day, right now, we need to go home and sketch the perfect pumpkin face.

Aww, this brings back some great childhood memories, Mike. We can’t wait to see what your carved pumpkins look like. Do any of you have a favourite pumpkin picking place in Ottawa? Let us know (we’re scoping out a place to visit)!