In 1990 my son was attending Dartmouth college in Hanover, NH. Every fall I would make the long drive up from Northern Virginia to visit him. We would go for drives in the Vermont countryside, stopping for maple syrup or to sample a homemade donut, and often, to pick apples. Apple picking was our favorite. The sky was always blue. The barns were always red. Sunflowers would line the driveway and pumpkins would be growing off to the side. To the delight of my daughter and mother, I would return home with barrels and barrels of apples. The two of them would spend hours in the kitchen making endless pies.

My mother is no longer with us, but the ritual of picking apples lives on. Every year I head out to the local orchard with my son, daughter and granddog.

Pumpkins ready to be taken home, carved and lit with a candle.

Janet buying maple syrup, apple cider and a big bag of apples for the deer that visit her yard.

Alex, Barnaby and Janet under an apple tree.

Janet and granddog, Barnaby, picking apples.