Apple Red Happiness

It was our last free Saturday for weeks. Determined to seize every opportunity to vacate the house, drink in the warmth of the sun's rays and experience the beauty of these limited, glorious, summer-like days before Mr. Frost awakens and our winter incarceration commences, I hatched a plan to visit the local apple orchard at Stone's Apple Barn. Typical to our family, it was no easy venture actually implementing my idea. Admittedly (my husband insists I add this), I was terribly crabby. My nasty disposition had nothing to do, I am sure, with the mounds of laundry sprawled upon the basement floor, the interminable number of food stains, dirt marks and crumbs decorating my kitchen floor, or the stink of day-old bacon grease fermenting in a pan on the stove. While I was tempted by the allure of staying home, politely requesting that Jared and the children all disappear and undertaking a mass cleaning which undoubtedly would cause my poor attitude to improve, I chose rather to turn a blind eye to these household burdens, wipe off the sticky pancake crushed upon my foot and spend the day with my boys.

And our day was truly wonderful. Together we picked (and ate) Jonathans, Golden and Red Delicious, Fujis, and Macintoshes, descending off the hay rack which transported us throughout the fields to pick our fill. Not surprisingly, Russell was the first to enjoy a juicy snack. Elliot, well, Elliot kept picking up apples from the ground, taking a few bites, and then tossing them back. And even Thomas, whose experience of apples is strictly limited to apple sauce, decided to throw caution to the wind and try a few bites before passing the remainder on to Russell. We left with 20 pounds of apples (the minimum we could buy), and in a moment of utter weakness I suggested McDonald's for lunch. (Clearly, I was intoxicated by the day.)

The bag of apples sits on my kitchen table, probably soaking in some spilled syrup. The laundry is folded, though still on the floor; the diapers are washed. The children are napping (or I will pretend they are); lasagna for dinner; a cold Corona in the fridge (it is almost five); Django Reinhardt is playing; and a whole lot of apple sauce making in my immediate future. It's so good.