Forty Six

. . . quarts of applesauce.
A very nice family (of a name that shall remain nameless, whom we shall refer to as "Mr. B and Mrs. B") have invited us over several times this summer to pick (i.e. invade in a Genghis Khan fashion) their apples.
This place (which is in an undisclosed location and shall be referred to as "The Farm") has lots of fun stuff for the kids to do and lots of ways in which the kids can get into trouble.
They love it.


Mr. B let me, All-Natural Mama and I'm Just Saying (yes, that's her blog title) come and pick several bushels of apples. Of course, since I don't use bushels, I should probably say he let us pick several laundry baskets of apples.

I have to admit, baskets of apples are lots more interesting than baskets of dirty stinky clothes!

We used every method to pick apples; ladders, apple picker on a pole, shaking the snot out of the tree limbs resulting in a hail of apple bombs falling on wee little heads below, etc. (Well, all except last year's method of using my mini-van as a ladder). Mr. B had an even snazzier way to pick apples; I got into the bucket of his front-end loader and it hoisted me up into the tops of the apple trees. Very interesting.

And no, you can't see a picture of that. I was too busy hanging on for dear life. (And I conveniently "forgot" my camera).
Lots of fun, lots of apples, and best yet, lots and lots of applesauce, apple butter, and . . . .


. . . . apple pies! (For my assembly line freezer directions click here).