An apple a day...

I said I’d do it and I did it. My last weekend in Philly and my aunt threw out several ideas of what we could do. When I heard apple picking my mind immediately jumped to my list. I was gonna get a chance to do it.
At Linvilla Orchards all was well on the farm. We had reached our destination. But where were the apple trees? All I saw were these tall bushes, nothing I had remembered from hearing stories of Johnny Appleseed. My aunt commented “Weren’t you the one who used to draw the apple trees with big trunks and oversized green leaves with apples in the trees?” Sure enough it was me. Because that’s how apples grew, right?
Like a kid finding out Santa Claus didn’t exist, I realized I wouldn’t need a ladder to reach these apples or a bucket to plop them into. But we persevered and picked apples (from bushes) to our hearts content.
So American, the apple. So many different kinds: yellow, green, dark red, light red. We found the most beautiful bunch of red apples and picked some only to turn them around to find the other side completely yellow. Aunt Jan called them sun-kissed. I liked that. I couldn’t believe that this little apple could change in nature and not be controlled by something else forcing it to be a solid red or green.
Then I realized this is where all my store bought foods come from anyway. We took them home along with some corn and raspberries and killed a few cobs moments after arriving home. There I realized that farm days haven’t come and passed. We aren’t eating space food or fed through tubes. I think the process was much like watching a baby being born. You know it happens everyday but you still see it as such a miracle. And that day my miracle was a sun-kissed apple.