Waiting can be a privilege. Sometimes, it is a privilege so obvious, nobody needs to be told
Something for everyone.
But it is also written: “Go West, young man.”
Or in whichever direction you find the nearest goats needing feeding or petting.
And so I found myself on a farm an hour and fifteen from my bed. To be honest, it wasn’t terrible. The weather was mild, and the operators had placed benches at every activity spot. A place for the older folk to sit is the most important element of Chol Hamoed trips, my mother told me. She is a wise woman and has never said anything wiser. There is a reason the entire city goes to a spot over an hour away, and I’m convinced the benches are it.
We wound around the farm, got corn stuck in our shoes, and posed for hundreds of the cutest pictures ever. The finish line became close enough to touch, and in time-honored tradition, we Chol Hamoed trip goers came to realize that the Minchah moment had arrived. A WhatsApp chat was quickly made, and after intense negotiations, we decided on 4:30 behind the tent. No, not that one — yes, the one next to the hayride, right in front of the corn maze.
Create a free account to keep reading.
