Picking Apples

I'm sorry the blog posts have been rather sparse lately (just in case you noticed.  *knock knock*.  Hello?  Anyone out there? *Crickets chirping* . . .)

Fall is so busy around here.  Not only does it coincide with the start of homeschool, Classical Conversations, but it also coincides with, nay, COLLIDES with Canning Season.

In my house, Canning Season is a Big. Deal.

The apple crop this year was thankfully very good.  Last year we didn't get any apples in our area, and this year the frosts in the spring insured that we weren't going to get any pears.

We have two young apple trees in our back yard, but because the kids use those trees as their forts/castles/mountains/pirate ships/all-purpose hangout, by the time the apples are ripe they've long since fallen prey to childhood ingenuity.

So far I've yet to have eaten an apple from our own tree.

Anyway, there's a house here in town belonging to a lovely elderly lady, and every fall she kindly lets us come and pick as many apples as we like.  

They're not sprayed, so they might have a few more holes or brown spots, but I say that's a small price to pay for, well, not paying any price for organic apples

 The kids are a huge help.  I think Peter was a Kangaroo during this stage of the operation.

Miss Boo loves picking apples from the ladder.  The added height gives her a sense of superiority.  (As though she was lacking in that area to begin with.)

Gabe wasn't happy that I wouldn't let him climb the ladder, and spent most of the time pouting.

Seriously, though, the child has climbed enough things in his short lifetime.  He can miss out on one experience.