Yesterday marked my first ever experience with apple picking.
For many Americans, this is a yearly tradition. But I’m South Texas Gulf Coast girl, so annual orchard visits have never been part of my experience.
But thanks to my lovely Indiana-based in-laws, I’ve now been introduced to this charming autumnal experience. With light-hearted midwestern snobbery, my husband teased me about my naive amazement, confirming that “Yes, Lauren, this is the kind of place all those fruits and vegetables in the grocery store come from.”
I grinned, answered with some retort about my childhood familiarity with the origin of all that Gulf of Mexico seafood he doesn’t eat. Then I resumed extracting crisp red apples from (mostly) yielding branches. Probably because of my enduring love for Sarah Addison Allen’s Garden Spells, I’ve long cherished a romantic idea of apple orchards.
I’m happy to report my real life experience lived up to my imaginary hype, and provided the perfect ushering-in-of-autumn activity.