The other weekend, the filmmaker and I endured gray, melancholic skies to traipse around in a local apple orchard. Being on a farm in the fall immediately transports the sensory and commanding central nervous system back to childhood; hay abounds, crunching under the bustling of an elementary class' feet, its pungent perfume mingling with the sweat from tractor engines, with pumpkin and apple flesh. There was always, during these school trips, such an overwhelming sense of new life, and of a bygone era that was quaint and somehow irrelevant to my typical quotidian life of crayons and asphalt landscapes near the playground, the topography for four square games, seemingly irrelevant despite enduring and exploring with my entire peer group a veritable physical experience there. Perhaps it was just a precocious cognizance of how commercial such operations can be. Sickeningly commercial, no matter; I continue to enjoy the simple and traditional pleasures that come with picking my own apples and pumpkins amidst a green field.
These boots are long past their prime, making them ideal for roaming about in muddy fields; it had rained the week before our excursion.
When I was younger, I grew fascinated at the concept that a piece of fruit is merely the ripened womb of a tree, a sentiment that persists today, though has grown more sophisticated and complex in its understanding.
We ended up picking up quite a loot of apples; I keep intending to make an apple crisp, a bit too modest and cautious to venture into the realm of the pie, as I am a homemade pie crust purist, however, a busy work schedule seems to serve as a perpetual impediment.
Sampling the wares while picking is one of my favorite portions of the afternoon.
Gourds come in adult and children sizes.
Again, the variety of gourd geometry is quite impressive.
The filmmaker and I had passed on the tractor ride about the field and back to the barn, a decision I mildly regret, though in retrospect realize meant avoiding the shrieks of toddlers.
Pumpkins scattered across the uneven ground, dew drops solidified, plump and pert.
The other weekend, the filmmaker and I endured gray, melancholic skies to traipse around in a local apple orchard. Being on a farm in the fall immediately transports the sensory and commanding central nervous system back to childhood; hay abounds, crunching under the bustling of an elementary class' feet, its pungent perfume mingling with the sweat from tractor engines, with pumpkin and apple flesh. There was always, during these school trips, such an overwhelming sense of new life, and of a bygone era that was quaint and somehow irrelevant to my typical quotidian life of crayons and asphalt landscapes near the playground, the topography for four square games, seemingly irrelevant despite enduring and exploring with my entire peer group a veritable physical experience there. Perhaps it was just a precocious cognizance of how commercial such operations can be. Sickeningly commercial, no matter; I continue to enjoy the simple and traditional pleasures that come with picking my own apples and pumpkins amidst a green field.
These boots are long past their prime, making them ideal for roaming about in muddy fields; it had rained the week before our excursion.
When I was younger, I grew fascinated at the concept that a piece of fruit is merely the ripened womb of a tree, a sentiment that persists today, though has grown more sophisticated and complex in its understanding.
We ended up picking up quite a loot of apples; I keep intending to make an apple crisp, a bit too modest and cautious to venture into the realm of the pie, as I am a homemade pie crust purist, however, a busy work schedule seems to serve as a perpetual impediment.
Sampling the wares while picking is one of my favorite portions of the afternoon.
Gourds come in adult and children sizes.
Again, the variety of gourd geometry is quite impressive.
The filmmaker and I had passed on the tractor ride about the field and back to the barn, a decision I mildly regret, though in retrospect realize meant avoiding the shrieks of toddlers.
Pumpkins scattered across the uneven ground, dew drops solidified, plump and pert.
I'm hungry now. :P
ReplyDeletewoowww! I love autumn!!!<3
ReplyDeletethis looks like fun. we don't have orchards here, but i do hope to make it out to our pumpkin patch next weekend!
ReplyDelete[oomph.]