Apple Memories

For several years, Cassie and I had a tradition. When autumn rolls around, we trek on over to a local apple orchard and pick ourselves a metric buttload of fresh picked apples. I usually send Cassie up in the trees in search of the perfect apple. Then I make her carry the heavy bag full of apples to the car while she whines that it is too heavy. We then spend the next few weeks wondering what to do with 3,892,782 tons of apples. Apple pie, applesauce, apple jam, apple butter, apple chutney, spiced apples, baked apples, my mother-in-law's recipe for apple crisp, and just plain apples. So many we get sick of them. Ah, pleasant memories. We're not a family with many traditions, so it's nice to have at least one.

But alas, last year at this time, I was pregnant with Sasha, and it was not wise to go wandering out in the apple orchards. So we had to skip the annual apple picking. I was very sad to miss it. This year, Cassie didn't want to go. I was starting to be afraid that our autumn tradition was dying.
It made me sad. Our one tradition was at risk of dying. In my mind, I had visions of my children growing up, moving away from me, forgetting to call their dear old mother. But come autumn time, I wanted them to notice the weather cooling off and think to themselves "It's almost apple picking weather" and maybe have a few memories of picking apples, cooking apples, and eating them. Or maybe some day when they're mother's, they'll take their own children apple picking. Wishful thinking but is it too much for a mother to want to make happy memories for her children?
We did get to go on Sunday. It was fun for all. And made extra special because it was Sasha's first annual trip to the apple orchard.
Hopefully not her last.