Once again, my Mom and I traveled east to pick apples recently. It seems to be a fall tradition for the two of us. And once again, it was a glorious day. That golden fall light on the eastern valleys and slopes of Oregon can't be beat.
It's quite mesmerizing to travel those backroads and see the slower pace of life. It gathers my thoughts into visions of alternate lifestyles and the paths that lead each of us to where we land. There are a lot of 'could have beens' in everyone's lives, huh?
Because of a scheduling snafu, the orchard was actually closed (!!), but the kind owner still allowed us to pick apples. We sat around on the bumper of my Mom's car, talking with this older gentleman about the area and his memories of how our own city has changed from his distant perspective. He reminded me of my grandfather. I felt the peace that always seemed to embrace me when I listened to my grandfather's stories of a time that seemed so much simpler. I felt a little envious of his life out by the orchard, within the quiet hills so far from the city. Ah, I'd probably grow weary of the solitude, though. Instead, I enjoyed the amount of time I had in that slow lifestyle; living in my dreams.
The apples were ready for picking and in no time at all, we had boxes of them! Ever since, I've been trying to find a place for them all. As I cut up apples for applesauce and peel them for drying, I still think about that beautiful trip with my Mom. What a fun tradition!
