It’s been a long time since I have posted a simple adventure, but we made our yearly trip to the apple orchard this past week. The sun was bright (too bright, really) and the skies a sheet of blue across a great canvas.
This is nothing exciting, really. We go the apple orchard every year, so it should not feel exciting. Yet, every year I impatiently ask my husband when will we return to the apple orchard. When will we be brushing up against the mums sold up front? When will we see a field filled with pumpkins like a church filled with an entire Sunday community? When will we select our own sweet fruits with which to encapsulate our home with the smell of pies and sauce?
Perhaps it is because at heart, I truly am a city girl, but even the city can grow tiresome. Here, farmer’s markets are expensive, so I am pushed to the grocery stores with the giant logos. Now, we are quite blessed in this town to have lovely supermarkets with the fruits of local labor, but there is something rather special about selecting your own food directly from the source. To say “let’s take this one that resembles a blushing bride,” and then to pluck it away from the source of its birth reacts delightfully with my senses. Truly, I think every human being should have the opportunity to select their nourishment directly from the source every so often. It’s a humbling experience and always fills me with emotions.
I suppose, in a way, nostalgia sets in.
There was always an apple orchard nearby when I was a child. In fact, I think it may have been a 5 minute drive, not to mention the apple and pear trees we already had on our property. Fresh apples (and pears too, for that matter) were always a given. Every late September we began our first of many trips to the local orchard to buy apples buy the bushel and ciders to fill our bellies. I always enjoyed these trips, and even returned a few times when we moved into the city, but somewhere in my college years I lost my path to the apple orchard. Indeed, in those years of exploration, I lost many aspects of myself in order to try new things. This is always a good thing, to be sure, but eventually the truest, oldest things quivering in your spirit gather and rise to see a new day, like an old friend returning home. Some new things do stick around though.
In all honesty, I never want to live in the quiet country again, but on a chilly October afternoon? I’ll take that. To me, it simply is not autumn until a bundle of fresh fall fruits enter my home and the scent of cinnamon mixes throughout the air. I think the apple orchard might be one my very favorite fall traditions.
Do you have any favorite fall traditions?