There is nothing more fall-like than heading into a quiet apple orchard on a crisp sunny day. It seems like all orchards begin the same. Filled with children squealing and parents corralling, and noise everywhere. But what I’m thinking about are those glorious moments when you go so deep into the orchard not another soul is around. The moments when you sneak bites of red and pink and yellow apples that taste so, so much better than the ones in the store. And maybe even more because they are those forbidden moments that you know you’re not supposed to do, but everyone does anyway.

Last Saturday we rose early, beat the lunchtime crowd and hit a gorgeous mom-n-pop orchard about a half hour from our house. As a southern girl living in the midwest, there’s a sort of storybook nature to the whole experience. It feels unreal that this is a yearly tradition for families here. The beauty of the seasons and the temporary nature of things here has helped me learn to seize opportunities when they present themselves. This weekend was no exception. The summer and fall have been racing by and we found ours on the last weekend for apple picking. It was worth the effort. An experience we will not forget.