It only took about twelve hours for summer to turn to autumn. The air had been stifling—hot, still, humid—until quite suddenly the wind shifted to the north, changing the sound of the leaves to one that says, “You live farther north than you had remembered.”
Outside my office are a couple of apple trees. No one maintains them, but the few edible apples aren’t bad. Most fall to the ground, and the yellow jackets fall right after, buzzing around them greedily. They don’t like to be disturbed—at all.
When the orchards open up for picking, they’ll be there, too, but the apples are so good that it’s worth the risk. There is no way to compare a traveling apple, days to weeks from the tree, to one snapped off the stem by my daughter. It doesn’t hurt to have the fresh cider and doughnuts to go with it. The nearby cider mill opens Monday, and the smell of those doughnuts will precipitate lines of people seemingly out of nowhere.
I’m thrilled to say hello to fall, ragweed pollen and all. Bring it on.