Soon, our apple bags will be empty

By this time most years, we have visited the orchard at least twice, spending hours picking apples of every variety. Our first visit, usually in September, brings us galas, empires, jonagolds, and cortlands. We roam the rows looking for the right apples to pick: crisp, bright, stems easily coming off the tree. We look for some lower on the trees so that Zoya can reach them; we look for some higher on the trees which haven’t been as picked over by the crowds. We fill a ten-pound bag (sometimes two), take some photos, and just relish being outside on the farm. We don’t pick honeycrisps; those we buy already-picked, gathered in a bag in the farm store. They are the ones that get eaten the fastest in our house, and we trust the farmers to ensure we have the best ones. Most years, after we have done picking, we head inside to the orchard barn where we pick up a baked good or two—apple fritters, apple muffins, apple pie are all for sale—and enjoy them in the café before heading home. (We…