I was expecting apples, and apples they certainly had. But I've never before been able to pick pears. We walked down a hill, over a creek, past the beans and the pond and the gazebo and found these golden beauties. We filled our bucket to the sound of contented bees, feasting on the fallen fruit. We got a lot of pears. Actually, it's a ridiculous amount of pears for just two people, which became sort of a theme. I'll be looking for pear butter recipes, and seeing if a pear a day keeps anyone away. The dentist? The chiropractor, maybe?
After the pears, we looked for apples. But then we got waylaid by the sight of a bucket full of grapes. Grapes! They were delicious, a world apart from the flavorless, seedless, chilly green globes in the grocery store. The air between the vines smelled like the grape juice you remember from your childhood, when a purple moustache was the fashion accessory of the summer. We totally went overboard on the grapes.
We did pick apples too - a mere twelve pounds, so apparently we had learned a little restraint by then. (Or the buckets got too heavy.) But surrounded by so much abundance, what can a person do but accept it?
I'm still not entirely sure where we were. But I took a picture of the sign, so we can find it again. In a few weeks, it'll be time to explore their pumpkin patch.
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