thetwigster

We had come at the just the right time to take part in the quintessential fall activity – the harvest. The chilly fall nights and warm, sunny days of the fall provide the ideal temperature fluctuation for the apples to change their starches into sugars, thus leaving us with five acres of trees laden with beautiful ripe apples. Walking down the rows of the orchard, I was overcome with awe over the sheer amount of apples. Everywhere you looked, a Fuji, a Golden Delicious, or a Jonagold apple was begging to be picked before it fell to the ground and bruised its delicious flesh.

To get started, we each got an apple picking bag, a rather helpful tool for this kind of work. We were told to start at the top since the apples receive the most direct sunlight there, and therefore ripen fastest. I was hoping Hugh would have some genius way of getting the apples from the top of the trees while my two feet were firmly planted on the ground, but my hopes were quickly crushed. In order to access these rosy-cheeked apples I had to get on a ladder.

Now, I’m not the most graceful, nor balanced person, so the ladder was a bit daunting. Climbing seven feet plus into the air with a bag full of apples across my shoulder wasn’t ideal, but those apples needed a picking. I scouted the apples on the top that seemed to be blushing red. Then I began to place the ladder. Reaching a lofty 5 feet 2 inches, maneuvering the seven foot ladder was a task in itself. With the ladder firmly placed in the ground, I began the ascent.

I was filling my apple bag up rather quickly, making trips up and down the ladder to unload the bag. My confidence was building and I was picking up speed. I was reaching for those apples, greedy to get them all with minimum ladder readjustment. I caught sight of a beautiful round apple, with just the right amount of a pale green under-color. It was just out of arm’s reach, and I was reaching. Suddenly I felt the ladder getting a bit shaky. In one of those moments of clarity, I knew I was going down.

Down I went. While in midair I screamed out to my sister, Francesca. She came rushing over to find me on the floor laughing at myself. My theory: my big hiking boots with advertised “great ankle support” helped me land without twisting, breaking, hurting, or spraining anything. I certainly learned my lesson. My initial caution returned, which is probably a good thing when you’re seven feet in the air with thirty pounds of apples on your shoulder. And so the day of harvesting continued, with my hand always on a supportive tree limb.

The twigster,

Josephine