10/19/2025
Sunday Confession: I dread apple picking day.
Always have. It’s a lot of work disguised as fun — you pay good money to haul home way too many apples, and then you spend the next week pretending to enjoy making applesauce. It’s one of those traditions that feels more like a dare than a day off.
But this morning my 3-year-old called it “apple searching,” and that made it better from the start. We went to Hartland Farm and Orchard, and it couldn’t have been more perfect — that cool, gloomy 55° morning where the fog hangs low, the trees glow, and everything feels a little slower.
We got honey, warm apple cider donuts, and enough apples to make me question every life choice I’ve ever made. I won’t tell you how much we spent, because it was a bargain and I don’t want you to go ruin my spot.
The boys were laughing, climbing, swinging sticks that instantly became claws, and for a few hours, I forgot about the mountain of work waiting at home.
Maybe that’s what it’s really about. Not the apples, not the jars, not the doing — just showing up anyway, and letting your kids rename the whole thing into something worth remembering.