September Memories

Right around the time the fireflies quit blinking for the summer and the leaves began to change into their autumn attire, the apples in the small orchard on the hill were ready for picking. Early in September, the pastor's family would come out to the farm and help us pick apples. I'd spend the morning running around the base of the apple trees picking up the fallen fruit, then climbing around the baskets in the back of Dad's little black pickup truck.

Around lunch, when the truck was full and heavy, we'd drive back to the house wedged in between bushels of apples. We'd spend all afternoon cooking apples into lovely things: apple sauce, apple butter, apple pie. Us kids would take turns turning the crank and mashing the cooked apples into the machine. By the end of the day, everyone was tired and sweaty from being in a hot kitchen all afternoon, but we had fresh apple sauce and apple pie as a consolation.