Fresh-Picked

This may sound funny, but up until last year, in my fifth decade of life, I have never eaten an apple picked fresh off a tree.

Last fall we went as a family just over the border into “upstate” New York to a farm to go apple pickin’. Fifty dollars bought us two bags, which the girls had a delightful time stuffing with fruit fresh off the tree. Close to eighty of them, if I recall correctly, about forty a bag. Maybe a little bit more. Lasted us not as long as you’d think, though. Probably two weeks –

Because them apples were so damn delicious!

Biting into one was like …

A deaf mute hearing for the very first time!

A blind man seeing for the very first time!

Me seeing the color vlurvë for the very first time!

Driving a Lamborghini for the very first time, when all you’ve driven were 1969 Dodge Darts!

Playing a vintage Les Paul through a thousand-watt Marshall cabinet with delay, flange, and reverb thrown on it, when all you’ve ever played before was yer Grandpa’s cigar box banjo!

Your first kiss!

Well, maybe not that earth-shattering as a first kiss, but you get my drift.

Last Sunday we repeated our apple-pickin’ excursion, and already I’ve had three. Plus, just in case a freshly-picked apple is just too darn healthy, I bought some caramel circles to wrap around them and bake in the oven. Mmmm-mmmm.

Good times, simple times.



(Note: this blog post written dopamine-drunk immediately after consuming an apple picked fresh off a tree …)