Crimson Crisp

and the turning of seasons

Last week Dan’s mom asked if we’d like to join her to check out a new apple orchard she’d come across on Facebook. It was just a bit up the road from where we live, and she had to pick up her order of fresh chicken from Quails R Us. There’s nothing I love more than random explorations, so during our lunch break we all hopped in the car to see what we’d find. The sky was overcast due to a pending rain storm moving inland which gave the autumn leaves a chance to pop vibrantly against the horizon. I’ve been noticing this rhythm to life out here that is quite different to anything I have ever experienced. It is regulating. The seasons are changing, and there’s an anticipation in the air—a preparation for the winter season ahead.

This will be my first northeastern winter in quite some time, and I feel my body synching up, preparing (—maybe even bracing a bit? I don’t do well with the cold weather). The produce is being harvested, things are being canned and preserved, and the hay is going into the haylofts. There is a collective energy of cleaning and sprucing up. Our neighbors were out today, building a carport most likely to avoid the piles of winter snow that would otherwise bury their car. The smell of burning wood is filling the air with a delightfully cozy feeling, and somewhere along my walking route I’ve been smelling the rich scent of fallen, decomposing apples. Everyone seems to be making these layers, creating nests of comfort. I have been devising my own plan for the approaching season with hopes of making it as easeful and restful as possible.

Linda enjoys exploring as much as Dan and I do, and as we approached the farm, she pointed out a barn that had caught her eye. She’s a painter, like my own mum, and is deeply inspired by the landscape in this area. We pulled in to grab her package of chickens and chatted with the farmer. He had just downsized his operations and was really enjoying the new view his farm offered. Just down the road was the orchard. We parked near an apple tree bearing fruit and an old couple were inside the shed, sorting crates piled high with harvested fruit. The shed was quite dark, lit only by the ambient light from outside and a worker’s lamp the man had clipped to his sorting table covered in ruby-skinned apples. I took my time perusing the shelves, reading taste and texture descriptions that were hand-written under the name of each variety, and eventually chose a bag of crimson crisps.

“This is our first time here” Linda said to the man as he rang us up. He was a taciturn type, barely acknowledging her remark, yet tied up her bag of honeycrisps with ultimate care and attentiveness. That was something I would’ve said too, expecting an eager response—perhaps even an offer to have us stay a while and tour the rows of orchards. But interactions like this one remind me that we are in the real farm country. This is not the gentlemen’s farms of New England—usually the farm is their sole means of making a living.

On my walk today I passed by the white barn with its hayloft still open. The owner was refreshing the exterior with a bright white paint. “Hi,” I said with a smile as I passed him from the road. “Hot today, isn’t it? I know I shouldn’t complain, with what’s right around the corner and all,” he replied. He was wearing a navy blue utility suit, zipped halfway down revealing his bare chest. We stood and offered a bit more conversation to one another about the weather.

When Dan and I made the move up here, though temporary, I wondered how jarring it would feel to be in an environment so opposite to the city. And while it’s certainly different, I’m really enjoying the simplicity offered to us here. Yes, it’s incredibly frustrating to have the closest supermarket be 30 minutes away with an organic section filled with produce that always seems to be just past its prime, but we also have access to the freshest meats and raw cheeses and seasonal produce—just like those crimson crisp apples. And meeting the farmers and their families while stocking up, knowing that I am supporting something homegrown and lovingly handled has been very rooting and nourishing. Just like the arrival of autumn.

Linda, Dan and I left the orchard and decided to drive down a road away from the direction of home. There’s always time to explore in a random direction in all of our books, and this autumn day lunch break felt like the perfect occasion. I dug into the bag of apples, cleaning one by rubbing it briskly against my skirt. That first bite revealed sweet, juicy flesh—perfectly ripe, perfectly satisfying. I love an apple that has a slightly tannic skin. I might be in the minority here, but a red delicious straight from the orchard is—delicious. A fog had settled over the winding road. To our right, a herd of Holstein cows dotted a field that cut into the hills. We passed another barn with an old sign for the dairy that used to be there, (we later found out it is for sale. Tempting!)

Driving around munching on that freshly-picked apple and taking in the jewel-toned scenes out my back-seat window that afternoon felt so peaceful. We were all going with the flow of that very given moment, fully open and curious to what we would find.

And it is what is feeling really celebratory lately. 

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