Where I come from (where Mexico borders Texas), there are two seasons: Summer, and Christmas. The former consists of 10 months of dry temperatures of over 100° and lots of gray dead grass. The latter consists of 70-100° temperatures and about 2 months of grass that’s actually alive. Now that I live in New England, I’m being introduced to this strange season called “Fall,” where eventually the foliage will neither be gray nor green—weird! To fit in, Jeffrey and I decided to embrace one of New England’s classic fall traditions: Apple Picking!
We had no idea what we were doing, so we paid attention to what all the 6-year-olds around us were doing… and copied them. And we followed the “Apple picking that way” signs.
What I did know how to do was how to dress for the chilly 70° Christmas—I mean, fall weather: mustard yellow shirt, brown vest, and my conquistador boots from Italy. Ok, I had no idea what I was doing with my clothes either.
Apparently, step #1 to apple picking is finding a ladder and reclining it against a tree that has not already been selected by fellow apple-pickers, like so…
Then you climb up (preferably at a slower and more careful pace than the 6-year-olds around you are doing), and start picking!
First apple of the day! It had a funny apple name we’d never heard of before—like Golden Supreme, or something.
There were big apples, little apples, red apples, green apples…
And pears! This apple orchard had some random pear trees too! We grabbed a few of those as well.
They were not nearly as cute-looking though, so we focused on the apples. Jeffrey, annoyed as he was with all the picture-taking, was still a good husband and would polish the apples with his sleeve for me while I set up my shots.
SEE THE DIFFERENCE? HOLY CRAP THAT’S RED!
By the way, we were the only apple-pickers carrying around a full-size camera tripod and taking pictures with a remote control…
“What, like I’m eating an apple? This is stupid.”
It’s true. He spends most of his time around me in an embarrassed state of existence.
Two hours later, our 10-pound bag was filled with 25 apples. And we have no idea what to do with them.
We don’t even eat apples.