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Agri-tourism Bad for Agora-tourists
By Brendan Alexander
Oct 23, 2004, 02:30

Great fun to be had, if you can stomach open spaces, that is.

With Halloween looming ever-closer, we needed to take steps to protect our home from ghosts, goblins, witches and less-than-diligent trick-or-treaters. Jack-o-lanterns are a good first step, so we naturally hit the punkin' patch.

I'd never heard of agri-tourism before, but then again I'd never heard of agriculture, so whattaya know? Even without my endorsement and approval, agri-tourism is doing just fine for me... Not so much for agoraphobics.

Here's some quick background for all y'all layfolk. As I learned yesterday at Stocker Farms in Snohomish, Washington, agri-tourism is when a farm becomes less of a grain-intensive place of harvest, and more of a coveted and covetable destination-type attraction.

And boy howdy, is this the place to be! I fed goats, poked pink piggies and even petted fuzzy bunny rabbits. Very cool indeedy, but that was just the beginning.

Want more vocabulary? Fair enough, read on.

RIGHT - As we get older I realize more and more that Patrick can steal the show with his charm, good looks, lengthy attention span, and ability to stand still for the camera. How does he do it?

Agoraphobia is a fear of open spaces, which is something this (and just about every) farm has plenty of. A wide open space can make you feel vulnerable, as if you'll fly off the face of the earth, or that you may be open to a stalker. Stocker Farms boasts 70+ acres of wide open space, vulnerability (to locusts and flash floods, perhaps) and a whole family of Stockers dating back a century. Stalkers? Wait, no, Stockers. Either way, though, still you see my point.

The open spaces didn't phase me, the plague of locusts remained in the deep south as always and the family of self-proclaimed Stockers only made the experience that much better. Don't let the chickens and peacocks fool you, these animals aren't for supper. Despite the petting fun (and palm-feeding opportunities) these are veggie farmers, so let's explore it further.

I imagine you've seen a pumpkin before, but have you ever seen a k'zillion? I have. From the size of my hand to my head up to many times my own size. A 200-pound jack-o-lantern could scare even the likes of the infamous English Spaniard Jack de la Ripper. Not sure how I'd carve it at that weight, but that's my problem.

LEFT - I even found a Halloween-themed ladybug perched atop a Halloween-themed pumpkin. Don't worry, I pointed but I didn't poke.

How about corn, you like that? I like eating it and throwing it on the floor, but they have a maze of corn to get lost in if you like. A literal maize-maze. I'm good at getting lost and we're looking forward to doing just that this weekend. Maybe you'll be there too, Maybe we'll be lost together, ya never know.

If you want pumpkins to look through for Jack-O-Mafia style home protection, they've got acres. If your heart can't handle Halloween, check out their market, open to the public from the strawberries of June right through the Christmas trees of... well, of Christmas. If decorative gourds aren't your thing, they have fresh-pressed cider, a variety of private label salad dressings, and more fresh fruits and vegetables right from their farm than I could even dream to eat... Don't get me wrong, I'll try, but I make no promises of success.

As for the agorophobics among you? Well, all I can suggest is therapy, medication, and a swift kick in the patooty. Open spaces and you're still scared? Get over yourselves already. Forget your madness and embrace the beautiful, potentially tasty, simplicity of the farm and the farmers market.

Stocker Farms is located at 10622 Airport Way, just a mile south of historic Snohomish, Washington.

Agoraphobia? Ya wierdo.

ABOVE- Taking in the farm is about more than admiring a handsome ear of corn, you've also got goats, b'gawky chickens and howler-peacocks to admire as well.

If you've ever looked at a hundred-item menu and suffered indecision, my experience may really strike a gourd with you. 'Twas nothing but punkins and punkins for as far as the attention span could see.

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