Apple Picking
Not the famous Frost poem but my weekend. I should have brought my camera: I spent a perfect New England Fall day (warm in the sun but cool enough for a sweater) with a milk-glass blue sky picking apples and raspberries (not very many) at a farm next to a craft fair in rural New Hampshire. There was aisle upon aisle of apple trees thick with fruit, a tractor ride out to the orchard, fresh vegetables, live music, and barbecue. I finished the afternoon with ice cream.
It was a day crammed full of New Englandiana and when I hurried out the door in the morning I thought about my camera but knew nothing about the apples: the craft fair sounded small enough so that the photos would not be all that impressive. (And it was the kind of craft fair where you can buy things made out of neon colored polyethylene fleece and 'country crafts', not the kind of craft fair with live alpacas and undyed hand-spun wool.)
I now have two bags of apples (I had one bag already from a grocery store but the prospect of picking a second bag, myself, under that perfect sky was too tempting.) I'm ransacking The Spice Cookbook
for things to do with apples ....
for things to do with apples ....The postcards for my forthcoming short story are done (two-step printing process and all). Now I just need to finish the addresses: the stamps are on their way.
-Lisa Shapter
Read "No Woman, No Plaything" in Kaleidotrope
Posted by Lisa Shapter at 9/20/2011 2:35 PM 
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: Robert Frost Poem Spice Cookbook Apples New Hampshire New England
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: Robert Frost Poem Spice Cookbook Apples New Hampshire New England
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