Apples

Every year since Robby was little we have gone apple picking. He thoroughly enjoys running through the orchard, wielding a long pole in the quest for the perfect fruit. Considering that he has no interest in ingesting anything apple related, his zeal for picking apples is a bit surprising. I'm sure that the fun lies entirely with the basket pole, which he considers to be a fierce weapon against the fruit laden trees.

With Robby transformed into an apple slaying knight seeking out the high hanging foe, Timmy and I dutifully trotted behind. Remembering the uneven ground littered with fallen fruit, I opted to forgo the stroller in lieu of wearing him on my chest. Although it was considerably easier than pushing a stroller, I felt a lot of anxiety walking through the orchard because I couldn't see my feet over Timmy. I was constantly worried that I was going to step on an apple or into a hole and fall.

Not wanting my falling anxiety to interfere with the fun, I tried to maintain a carefree demeanor as I gingerly and deliberately walked through the trees. (You never realize how many apples fall off the tree until you try to avoid walking on them.) Between trying to keep track of my feet and avoiding being hit by the long picking pole that Robby swore he could handle, I was mentally exhausted by the time the basket was filled.

Timmy felt none of the angst I experienced and smiled throughout the picking adventure. He loved being outside, looking at the trees and people. He was content being worn and was snug and warm as I schlepped both of us through the field.

By the time Robby had finally slayed enough apples, I was more than ready to head home. I love spending time with him, but sometimes our family traditions are considerably more difficult to execute with an infant. That being said, there was something particularly wonderful seeing my little boy pick apples that are going to be made into applesauce for his baby brother.