Common wisdom holds that New England’s most exceptional qualities are almost entirely of the autumnal variety. New England’s long stretches of characteristically gray, languid weather are redeemed only by those precious few weeks of October when the trees are aflame with color. During that rare window, there is much fun to be had in climbing up to some scenic overlook and staring out at the vast expanse of crimson and gold trees before you.
In that moment when you get tired of staring at trees, there is even more fun to be had in walking among rows of much punier and less majestic trees and picking apples. Apple picking feels synonymous with the New England experience — its mere evocation conjures up images of cider donuts, sweaters, candy corn and grande pumpkin spice lattes with oat milk. If I ever want to leave Tufts University and the Greater Boston area with the feeling that I have gotten the New England experience, I need to pick some apples first. And pick some apples I did.
Last Saturday morning, my friends and I left early for an apple orchard about an hour outside of Boston and drove through the woods to a frighteningly remote overflow parking lot to beat the crowd. We were pleasantly surprised to find that we had, in fact, beaten the crowd to rows upon rows of pristine apples (and pears) of all shapes, sizes and varieties. They were ours for the taking.
After two hours of rigorous apple (and pear) selection, I emerged with two large bags stuffed to the brim with the finest apples anyone has ever picked and three lessons learned about apple picking in New England.
One, you can eat the apples. Much to the amusement of my friends, I was utterly baffled by the idea that most orchards let you walk in and eat apples right off the branch. “But don’t we have to pay for those?” I worried as I subtly tried to shield my friends from the orchard employees who were no doubt searching for apple thieves and their accomplices, the latter of whom I had just unwittingly become. But no, it turns out you pay for apples consumed with the price of admission.
Two, firing apples from a cannon is a fun activity, and it is something people actually do. The orchard we went to was equipped with a battalion of apple launchers, which very closely resembled artillery guns and sounded not unlike them when manned by children gleefully firing off volleys of apples against targets in the woods. Their glee was not misplaced — watching an apple explode at high speed is inexplicably satisfying.
Three, you end up with too many apples. Way too many apples. This is the paradox of apple picking: It purports to solve the problem of lacking fresh, delicious apples in your life, yet, in your apple-fueled fervor, you will inevitably arrive home and be faced with the intractable problem of an overabundance of apples. But this is also the beauty of apple picking: When faced with such a sweet surfeit, you have no choice but to call up those same friends who accompanied you on the trip and enlist them to make an apple pie. Here, as is often the case, the apparent cost of stepping outside and interacting socially is really just an excuse to continue to engage with your community. An apple a day may keep the doctor away, but a bushel full will keep your dearest friends close.
Highly aesthetic apple picking adventure: check.
