Apple picking attempts…

We tried to go apple picking today.

Yes, when I say we tried to go, I mean we tried and we failed. But how can you fail at apple picking, you ask? It’s a very strange tale actually

We went to church this morning and after some of our friends invited us out to a local orchard.  It’s been cloudy in Nashville for about a week and today was the first day of sunshine so we thought, what better way to enjoy a beautiful fall day? So we hopped into the car and trekked to the orchard. Upon our arrival Erin (one of our friends) expressed a bit of concern at the lack of trees, apple trees to be precise. There were lots of pumpkins, an ice cream shop, and a train for little kids, but we weren’t seeing apple trees.  Keep in mind this place advertises itself as a “pick your own” apple orchard/farm. We thought, maybe the trees are hiding somewhere? If it’s possible for trees to “hide.” They can be hidden from view I suppose. We parked the car and decided to ask someone about the apples. Well, Erin asked.  She came back and relayed the conversation she had with one of the apple orchard owners.  It went something like this:

Erin: Y’all have any apples.

Owner lady: Apples? No.  They’re not in season.

Erin: Really? When is apple picking season?

Owner lady: The fall.

Erin: shocked and thinking to herself, “It’s October right?” says nothing.

Owner lady: We have some trees you can look at if you want, but we don’t have any apples.

Erin: That’s okay.

So apparently apple picking season is the fall, but mid-October doesn’t fall into that time frame. Either that or they had an unusually small apple harvest this year. We were slightly disappointed. But like I mentioned earlier, they did have an ice cream shop, and even on a cold day I can’t resist an ice cream cone. So at least the trip wasn’t a total failure. We’re going to check out the farmer’s market this week for apples.  I want to try my hand at making some cider! It got cold in Nashville this week and some warm apple cider sounds delicious right now.

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