Apple Picking

by Sharon Obelsky

 We usually went to Applecrest Farm in Hampton Falls,N.H. the last week of September. If you waited too long into October, the best would be already picked and a lot would be on the ground. The day would dawn clear with just a little touch of cool weather but you knew by afternoon it would be much warmer. It was always best to dress in layers and definitely wear boots, the mud is pretty bad in the orchards. I would wear jeans, socks, boots, tee shirt, sweatshirt hoodie or a light jacket. Paul had a special outfit for this occasion; a flannel plaid shirt, leather vest, cowboy hat and buckle, jeans, cowboy boots and he’d bring his guitar. He always made an effort to talk with the band first and see if he could join in for a few songs. He had a guy from Lynn, Henry the hatter, who custom made his cowboy hat and he found the belt and vest at the Topsfield Fair. We would meet everyone at a certain spot off route 95 going onto route one and continue on together up to Applecrest. 

 One time I remember videotaping our ride up the road that leads to the farm. Paul was driving and we had our song from John Denver, “Take Me Home Country Roads”. There were beautiful, typical New England homes, wood clapboard with colored shutters and bright doors, some red with pumpkins and corn husks at the doorway. There were rock walls lining their yards from the road, American flags hanging from poles or posts off the houses and big old barns and white picket fences. The line of cars would start as soon as we turned off route 1 and winded its way to the farm. We’d pull into the parking lots, per se, for actually they were fields that had already been harvested. 

We’d unload and set out to the spot to pay for bags to be used for the apples we’d pick. On the way, we’d stop off at the band stage and of course they welcomed Paul to join them after we got our apples. 

There were hay-wagons to ride out to the orchards and it was fun bouncing and jouncing along the muddy fields. I always picked the Cortland apples, they were the best for pies that I made from my great grandmother Abby’s recipe. We’d have everyone back for coffee, pie and ice cream later. Paul had made this special picker that reached higher up in the trees where we couldn’t reach, he should have patented it like the pooper scooper he had made before they were invented. 

After putting the apples back in our cars and shedding a layer, since it had gotten warmer, we would head back to the festival, now in full swing. Paul would now grab his guitar and join the group on stage and we’d all sing along and clap to the music. Afterwards there would be hot apple cider and warm cider doughnuts. What a gorgeous September day it had turned out to be, with white puffy clouds, deep blue sky, with a touch of summer fighting off the chilly hint of fall to come that we had felt earlier. The stage would be decorated with cornstalks, ribbons, pots of fall mums and pumpkins.

 We all would drive back to our house, the guys would go down cellar to play some darts and the girls and kids would stay up in the kitchen. We’d make a couple of pies, filling the house with the wonderful smell of apples and the anticipation of the slices to come. The girls would bring their pie pans so they could bring one home with them. I always had this feeling of contentment after days like these. I read something once, “ I’d like a do over”. It fit for a day like this one, a day filled with good times, good friends and good weather