By now, I’m sure most of you have realized that fall is my favourite season of all. I yearn for that day when I walk outside and smell autumn in the air. I feel so free in the anticipation of the forthcoming changes. I yearn for cold sweater-weather mornings that slowly turn to tank top afternoons. It’s a fresh start. An opportunity to say goodbye to the passing summer and hello to awesome! With fall, our landscape slowly transition from a million shades of green to bright, vibrant oranges and reds. The weather cools, and beautiful chrysanthemums appear. Pumpkins can be found at any roadside vendor and straw bales and corn stalks quickly adorn most entranceways. These all contribute to my love of the autumn season, however there is one true thing I yearn for every year. Fresh crisp apples right off the orchard.
Picking apples is a special thing in my heart. Years and years ago, before my time, my loving grandparents planted an apple tree in their front yard. I remember harvesting a large basket with my grandmother and proudly watching her turn those apples into a delicious pie. She was an amazing, resourceful woman, raising four energetic boys and running the house while my grandfather worked. No matter the number of people, she could turn a meal for 6 into a meal for 20 without breaking a sweat, and then she would pull a beautiful apple pie out of the oven just in time for dessert. My appreciation for her, and what she was able to do with so little, grows with every passing day. My time with her was cut so very short. I was only 8 when she passed, but she had such a profound influence on me, even at such a young age. After she passed, my family moved into her house, and the apple tree became ours. We would climb to the very top and spend hours swinging from the branches. Come harvest season, we would jump in the loader of the tractor and pluck the apples that were just out of our reach. My amazing mother then took on the role of pie maker, using my grandmothers recipe, to bake that perfect apple pie.
To me, fall is much more than fall. It is about the memories I have, and the memories I am creating with my little family. I recently took Olive to the local apple orchard to fill our own basket full of apples. There is something about apple orchards make me gleam. The rows and rows of perfectly parallel trees and the freshly cut lawn littered with bright, crisp fallen apples warms my heart. Watching Olive run from tree to tree,pointing to fallen apples and then filling her basket was so exciting. By the time we arrived at the end of the row, she fell over in a fit of laughter and exhaustion. She looked at me with a little mischievous look, and then reached out to plucked the newly shined apple out of my hand. Olive loves apples. We nestled in the shade of one of the tallest trees in the orchard and shared one of our freshly picked apples, playing ‘Patty Cake’ and giggling the entire time. This time I share with my little girl is a special gift. A special gift, I feel, from my grandparents who first shared with me their love of apples.
Soon our basket was full to the brim, almost too heavy to carry home. Full of apples and full of memories.
