Tester Jobs Requirements (VIDEO GAME)

We were pulling out of the campground Sunday morning, damp and frizzy, when the sun decided to aggressively burst out of the clouds. Suddenly it seemed like absolute madness to simply head for home when the beautiful fall day we had dreamed of suddenly arrived.

We spotted this sign a couple of miles away from Pleasant Acres and headed down a bumpy, muddy road, keeping our fingers crossed that somewhere at the end we would be able to turn our camper around.


Is there anything as romantic as picking apples? My husband and I picked apples for the first time together about 16 years ago. He still remembers what I wore that day and I know this because he asked about that god-awful denim dress just a few years ago. I rolled my eyes and sighed, but inwardly my heart quivered at the notion that he could still picture me at 16--confident enough in my skin to wear an apron dress and a bandanna and probably Birkenstocks with socks, heaven help me.

This time Jeremy probably would not be able to tell you what I wore (sans photo evidence). We were both too busy soaking in the hilarity of two toddlers in an apple orchard. Whoever knew that eating apples could be such sport? They hurled themselves at the trees and grabbed at apples, taking bites and acting as if they had been deprived of flavor their entire lives; as if I had been feeding them cream of wheat and rice krispies their entire life when there was this to be had! Apples!




Every day since, we have had at least one apple request a day and they are eaten with relish. Tonight, I brought to the table a red Bosc Pear for dessert and the boys looked at it with admiration and love and proclaimed, "Apple..."




The romance of apple picking lives on.