So it happens to be Fall, or shall I say Autumn, here in New England, and
even though the temperatures were a little warm this past weekend, Avery
and I did Autumnal-type things which we haven't done for five years since
we've been residing in the land of seasonless-60-degree-weather-at-all-times,
aka San Francisco (and no, the "rainy" season during the entire 28 days of
February and the period starting "the day that the fog comes back" do not
count as seasons. And just because it's in the mid-seventies during the month
of October does not give you the right to call that 31-day-period "summer."
You people wear leather jackets all year round, just face it.)
On a whim we decided to go to the Avon Cider Mill to have apple fritters and apple cider. I was hoping to have hot apple cider, but since it was 70 degrees out I had to settle for cold. It was all good, except for the bees, who evidently also love apple cider and 70 degree weather. Since New England is such a Martha Stewart epicenter, it was no surprise that people were taking the whole Season of Fall very seriously. There were women rushing all over the place with stern, concerned looks on their faces as they discussed pumpkins and decorative gourds with their companions. Everywhere you turned, someone was hauling dried-up decorative cornstalks to the register. (The decorative ears of corn, however, seemed to be some of the items that were in less demand.)
So we have our apple fritters and cider at the picnic tables, then in the car, then standing around the car and then back in the car (thanks to the bees), drive away, and on another whim decide to go to the "Pickin' Patch" down the street. Someone in an international orange pumpkin costume is waving at cars from the parking lot. We park in mud. There's a hayride. I'm lovin' this stuff, even though I have no desire to buy either a pumpkin or a decorative stalk of corn. Though I lived in Connecticut for the first 19 years of my life, I had never been to a "Pick Your Own" place before, so this was quite the novelty for me. Unfortunately, the only thing that is in season right now is kale so, sadly, there was no pickin' at the patch for us last week. While waiting in an extra-long line to buy a jar of orange blossom honey, I noticed that they sold ears of corn that pop into popcorn when put into a microwave. It saddened me that the microwave directions were the only ones on the label. Is this what it's coming to? You now have to own a microwave oven to pop an ear of corn the old fashioned way? We don't own a microwave, and I'm sure in 1999 that's just as bad as having to please stay on the line because you have a rotary phone.
On the drive back we see another sign for a farm and decide to stop and look. It's the Applegate Farm, and this one has animals! After perusing yet another set of colorful fall mums and oddly-shaped pumpkins, on our walk back to the car we notice pens full of turkeys. "Go on over and look at 'em!" the farmer-proprietor type person says to us. "There's a horse in the barn, too." So we observe the turkeys and the pheasants and the other game birds and the rabbits, and we even catch a glimpse of the horse in the barn. I muse out loud how the turkeys will soon be on somebody's Thanksgiving platter, but they didn't seem too phased by the comment; I suppose they hear that all the time.
We got especially excited when we saw the International Sign for Maple Syrup posted on the side of the barn, but were disappointed to note that there was nary a single jug of maple syrup to be found. Perhaps we're a little early, we thought. After going home and doing a little research we found out we're a lot early...they don't start tapping the trees until February. Yeah, our New England knowledge is a little rusty.
A whole Sunday of stopping at little farms as you drive down streets lined with blazing-red-and-orange-leafed trees will really have an effect on you. At the end of the day, I wanted to know which apples were good for baking with and which would stay white in fruit salads. I wanted to buy pie crusts and apple jelly and arrange decorative gourds on a decorative bale of hay. I longed for a house so that I could coordinate the colors of the porch trim to the colors of the mums that I would set on the front steps.
I'd even take a couple of those decorative ears of Indian corn for the front door.