One of my favorite things to do every year is to go apple picking. The area we live in is ripe with orchards and farm stands. Fields of pumpkins abound. Davey has already had a school field trip to an orchard but we’d yet to go as a family. Today was a perfect day for it. A bit chilly, sure, but the sky is blue and full of puffy clouds, the air is crisp, the leaves are beginning to turn, splashing the woods with orange and red. By all reports, this is a bumper year for the apple crop. Good news for the farmers, and for those of us who want them to stay in business and keep the orchards open.

The kids had a great time, each toting their own small bag for apples. Mae refused to let anyone else touch her bag. She walked along, shifting it from one hand to the other as it grew heavier, with 3, 4, 6 apples. At the top of the big hill, Davey, the girls and I sat for a rest and apple break while Dex and Edward ventured further to pick on the far side of the hill.

As we pulled out of the parking area, laden down with apples, a couple of pumpkins, and some end-of-the-season corn, Edward said to his sisters, “We’ll be back next year to pick more apples.” Dex and I were quiet. I was silent with thoughts of “No, we won’t.” Then I wondered what Dex was thinking. And suddenly the thought of not coming and picking apples again next year made me quite sad. It’s never easy, is it?