Apple Picking 2011

Today we joined our parish homeschooling co-op for a field trip to go apple-picking. Unfortunately, only one other family showed up and they were leaving just as we arrived. But we still had a great time!

While last year's apple-picking was highly commercialized, this year's event was as rural as it gets!

As we drove up the lane to the orchard, the barbed wire fences were marked with a series of hand-painted signs with various warnings. There were decrepit buildings falling down (although the one in this photo was a working shed). The lane was so narrow, I wondered what would happen if two cars crossed paths because there was literally nowhere for a second car to pull to the side. The lane wove up what is called here in the South a "mountain" and a sign read that we should "drive to the top of the mountain." Indeed, while not a mountain by my California standards, it was steep enough that my van started to falter!

John, atop the mountain!

To answer John's innocent question, as I trudged up and down the hilly ground with Margaret on my front and a backpack on my back: yes, carrying a half bushel of apples is heavy!

If there is an elevation, something to climb, some way to be higher: Mary is going to be on it!

Sweet sisters!

If you could see my list of chores to do and my packed calendar for the next week, you'd be shaking your head at me for succumbing to temptation to pick an entire bushel of apples. You see, I am going to be Mrs. Suzy Homemaker and make and can apple sauce, apple butter, and make and freeze pastries, such as apple pies, apple muffins, and apple cakes! (Share any of your favorite apple recipes with me, okay?)

At the end of the day, I bit off more than I could chew. Margaret still hates the car, so I turn down a lot of appealing events we could attend. But I don't want us to live as hermits because that is hard on the kids, even though it would make the baby more content. So, I took a gamble: Margaret cried only 30 minutes of the 90-minute drive out into the country, which was not so bad. But when driving home we hit rush hour, causing our drive to take two and a half hours, during which my poor sweet baby screamed for two hours straight. I knew she was fed and full and was screaming only because she hates the car, so the best way I could help here was to drive home as directly as I could. While my children have their moments (I share with you only a fraction!), John and Mary have never complained or said a cross word about Margaret's screaming, including today. What a blessing!