APPLESAUCE

The air was cool and crisp as we sat on the flatbed, covered with hay and pulled by the farmer's tractor.

Four of them, filled to the brim with people of all sizes, all sat huddled together on this cold and windy Sunday afternoon. Covered with blankets and sleeping bags pulled up to our necks, it was a yearly event held by the church. Grandmas and kids, young lovers and not so newly weds, we all looked forward to joining this small caravan, the smell of Fall in the air, the sound of the waves of the lake crashing off in the distance. An occasion to mingle and converse, the traditional barbeque chicken dinner with all the fixins's waited for us back at the hall, salt potatoes simmering in butter and stacks of brownies calling to us from the table near the coffee and cider.

As a former city girl, this was particularly exciting. Sitting on the edge of the flatbed, my legs dangled off the side as we plowed slowly down the main road away from town and into the farmland. A local apple grower who was also a parishioner and generously donated the time and vicinity for just a simple step back in time this autumn afternoon. Bundled in long underwear (a prerequisite piece of clothing necessary for warmth from now til April) a heavy sweater, wool hat and gloves, I welcomed the wind against my cheek as I sat shoulder to shoulder with my neighbors and my beloved.

The view is different from that of one traveled by car, where the fruit trees go zipping past as you drive unawares to your destination. Making a slow drive such as this one forces you to see the apples on the branches, clumped together like large red grapes. I never knew they grew that way.

I realized we had forgotten the camera, views I had wanted to capture as we traveled down the rows and rows of blossoming bounty lost for the moment. I would have to picture them in my mind to share them later.

Another turn off the beaten path through the apple orchard brought us face to face with rows and rows of bright yellow Crispins, Golden Delicious and Granny Smiths. A local growers wife was on the flat bed with us and gave us a small dissertation on the different varieties of fruits and the best time for picking. She was a school teacher during the week, but this was secretly her favorite part of the year, the time of harvesting.

Which we all did once the truck stopped in the middle of nowhere. I couldn't hear the waves of the lake anymore, as we were far entrenched into the orchard. Had I been by myself, I would never have found my way out! But lucky for me, I was surrounded by pros.

Once the okay was given to Let's go! we all jumped off the truck at once. Screaming with the reckless abandon of children being dismissed for summer school, we all tore off in different directions towards the great trees and their bounties. Those who had done this before came prepared. Out of nowhere came canvas bags and paper sacks, all used as receptacles for the bounty open to everyone.

Gently picking me up and setting my feet on the ground, my beloved and I smiled at each other as we looked around at the controlled melee that followed. How did we ever end up here? our eyes said to each other and we reached up to grab a gift from above, one of many extended to us this past year.

The pictures are in my mind forever, no camera needed.