We picked apples before noon in the crisp air of mid-autumn. The season for picking is almost closed. Apples with their rotten bottoms filled the orchard floor.
The farm was friendly to visitors --even little boys-- complete with wagons, big red barns, a store of goodies, sheep, donkeys, goats, tractors, and Halloween displays.
Gerret picked one apple, then held onto it for dear life (except to show Grandma). Nolan insisted on dragging a bag full of fruit behind him as he excitedly ran between trees, collecting all he could off the lower branches. When he picked an apple, but got the branch, he squealed with laughter.
Our ride home, through the colorful hills, down Cayuga was picturesque. In fact, I petitioned my mom to stop the car so I could take a picture of the lake. So, once again, here she is:
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