My Heart is an Apple

I don’t want to make you jealous, but I have friends in gravenstein country, friends with 90 year old antique apple trees and apple picking equipment who remind you when the gravenstein’s short season arrives.

Every year, John and Kathy invite Mr. WholeHog and I up to pick their apples but we always seemed to have plans during the two weeks that the gravensteins are ripe for picking. But this year, we awoke Sunday morning to a fog so thick that we could hear it dripping on the deck outside and as we contemplated how to escape this dreary City, we realized that it was still gravenstein season up in Sebastopol.

Our friends are the kind of people that when you call on a Sunday morning and ask if you can come up and pick their apples later that very day, they say yes and give you directions. (And when you forget the directions and miss a turn off on your way and have to call them again? They don’t even sound irritated).

I told you: friends. Friends with apples in sunny Sebastopol.

We should all be so lucky.

John outfitted us in true apple picker attire and scoffed at the two bags we’d brought to hold our apples. He clearly knew (or hoped) we’d pick more apples than we anticipated and we filled every additional bags he provided.

We moved from tree to tree, all of them studded with gravs, as they call them in West County. We ultimately filled three grocery bags with apples. A good amount, John said as he helped us carry them back to the car, because now you’ll more motivated to find something to do with them. And then he led us to a patch of Asian pear trees to pick some more.

Life outside the City seems awfully appealing, especially during these summer months.

There is something truly lovely about
being under an apple tree on a summer day.

On our way home, we stopped first at my sister’s new apartment and dropped off a few pounds of apples with her. We spent the rest of the evening peeling apples, following Kathy’s instructions for making applesauce (so easy and delicious! who knew?!) and making apple muffins. We have a pie in our future.


2 Responses to “My Heart is an Apple”

  1. Anna Says:

    Neat story. Good friends.

    I grew up on a farm and we had several apple trees. Nothing beats home grown fruit. Enjoy.

  2. Let Me Take You Down « Whole Hog Says:

    […] often head north. We might go to the Marin Headlands or to Mt. Tam for a hike. Up north, there are apples to pick and pork to eat. But a recent trip down Highway 1 reminded me of the many reasons to go […]

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