Growing up in California means that you don’t experience seasons the same as everyone else. Where I am, our seasons generally work like this:
Spring: sun.
Summer: fog and sun.
Fall: hot wind and sun.
Winter: dead trees and sun.
This means that certain traditions that come with the change of seasons were never an aspect of my life. Playing in the snow on Christmas morning? I would go to the beach or swim in a pool in 80-degree weather. Watching the leaves change color in the fall? The leaves would fall off the trees, of course, but that was pretty much it.
So imagine how excited I was when I was asked by my friends to go apple picking with them. I was overjoyed; I had never gone apple picking before in my life. I would finally be experiencing a fall tradition for the first time.
When we pulled up to the farm, I could hardly contain my excitement. I am familiar with farms, of course, since there are many of them close to where I live. But there was something distinctly Americana about the corn maze billowing in the breeze, the bright red farm sitting squarely at the end of the dirt road, the families milling about in coats as laughter permeated the air. It felt like a completely different world, a world I had only seen in movies and heard about in stories.
Even though it was freezing and I wished I had dressed warmer (I honestly forgot how cold it can get in October), there was nothing more magical than holding a warm cup of cider and walking into the first row of apple trees. I felt my breath catch in my throat; it was amazing seeing all kinds of apples surrounding me, dazzling colors of yellow, green, and red sitting like jewels among the trees. It was thrilling to seek the best looking apples as if I was searching for treasure.
I felt like a little kid, delighted by everything I saw. I felt like Tom Sawyer walking among the apple trees. I felt so elated making jokes and running around having fun with my friends. Laughs were had, pictures taken, and apples picked. By the end of our hour and a half of apple picking, we had a giant bag filled to the brim with apples. And even though we were cold, tired, and sore (it’s hard carrying a giant bag of apples), we were happy. We had just spent quality time together, and now had a fond memory to look back upon.
My first experience with apple picking was unforgettable, and I look forward to the years to come when I can make apple picking not just a once in a lifetime experience, but an annual fall tradition.
