New England Fall Days

This weekend, we headed out to visit an apple picking farm and happened upon Applecrest Farm's Harvest Festival. On the way there, the windows of the car were rolled halfway down, letting cool fall air in as we curved past fences and farms. The festival was in full swing as we arrived. A high school boy waved us down the parking lot, where Langston and I tripped through thick grass to the festival entrance. It smelled incredible - roasting corn, hot apple cider, pies, and smoky coal grills.

A bluegrass band was playing in a bandstand, and hundreds of people were milling about among pumpkins every color. There was a huge line for apple cider donuts. (I regret now not lining up to sample one - next time.) There was a large market where I returned the next day to buy half a peck of honey crisp apples and some apricot jam for an apple tart. In a separate little barn, a creamery sold many, many different kinds of ice cream. We had apple pie ice cream, both Saturday and Sunday. At first, my son was skeptical, despite my reassurance, "It's just like yogurt!" Later, amid bales of hay and pumpkins, he conceded to a few tentative bites. The next day, wearing his red knit cap, no such caution was necessary. We sat on a chilly bench outside the creamery and happily shared a kiddie-sized cup of apple pie ice cream. Passersby commented on his hat and his smile.

Saturday, we wandered through the pumpkin patch and past the petting zoo. "We live here," I told Langston, smiling at his open-mouthed laugh. My son was less interested in the assorted farm animals than he was in the huge pumpkins and their gorgeous, twisting roots. He measured their girth with his palms and studied their lines. After walking up and down rows of pumpkins, it was time to go home.