AN APPLE A DAY…

                                                   Eileen Cichello

Come October, like the geese prompted by an internal clock telling them it is time to take wing, our daughter Mary packs her kids in the car and heads for Weedsport.  It is most likely to happen on a Columbus Day weekend now that her kids are in school.

"I love being here in the fall," she says.  Given the crisp air, the vibrant red, orange and gold leaves beginning to flaunt their colors, the shiny chestnuts littering our lawn and drawing kids like magnets, I cannot fault her on this.

Apple picking is mandatory on this visit. As is picking a huge amount.  Each year Mary says, "Tom will kill me when he sees how much we have."

For the past ten years she has shown up faithfully and we have headed to Owens Orchard.  The apple growers are now planting smaller trees, since you can grow more on each acre, the trees are very productive and the picking is easier.  Hence, no ladders are needed. This almost caused a meltdown last year

Mary's son John, then six, said, "What's the use of picking apples if you can't climb ladders?  You can just go to the store and buy them."

We argued to no avail as John loudly proclaimed his point of view, rallying his brother and sister to his side.  "Yeah.  Let's just go home," they chimed in.

Their grandfather Sam saved the day.  He explained our predicament to one of the men who drive the wagons taking people to the various sections of the orchards. After some discussion, we were led to an area where there were bigger trees.  There a stepladder was found.  John glowed as he and the other two took turns climbing up and passing down apples. Fewer apples hit the ground than the year before, as the kids have gotten more dexterous.

This year, there was no problem with the small trees.  The kids just got into picking mode and we filled all the bags I had brought from home within a half-hour, since the trees were chock-full of apples within easy reach.  One bag, one I'd paid a dollar for at the Lafayette Apple Festival the day before, split and apples rolled all over.  We hailed the wagon and refilled with bags gotten from the driver.

All was serene until we got back to the weigh-in station.  "Sixty three dollars, " the woman said.  "SIXTY THREE DOLLARS!" I sputtered.  Seems that we had picked 210 pounds of apples in our half-hour sojourn.  Mary had said at one point, "Don't you think we have enough?" and I had opted for just a little more…and a little more.  After all, they were only 30 cents a pound, a real bargain.  Since I'd only brought $45 with me and I didn't see how we could get the apples back on the trees, Mary chipped in a twenty.

 Oh well… Mary returned to husband Tom's undoubtedly sarcastic comments, Paul returned to college with apples.  We've a trip scheduled to visit kids this month in Michigan and apples will accompany us… We'll get them used up.

I can't remember exactly when we started going apple picking with our own kids.  Probably when the number of mouths to be fed called for buying in quantity.  It was always a fun outing. We would store the apples in a cool area in the basement. I made and canned applesauce for a couple of years, turning the kitchen into a veritable war zone in the process. After one batch grew mold, I lost my enthusiasm for that venture.  We now store our apples in the two extra refrigerators we have left over from the  "My- word- are-they- all- yours?" years.

I was telling some of my friends about Mary's impending visit and our planned apple picking.  Jeannette, the closest one to a Martha Stewart in this group, said, "Isn't it fun to pick apples, then go home and make apple pies!"

I just looked at her.  Was she crazy?  Didn't she know you made apple pies only for Thanksgiving and Christmas and when they won't let you just bring salt potatoes for the church chicken barbecue?   Jeez!