Apple time

Fall has fallen. The weather has suddenly gone from 103 to a lovely 70-something, and there is that hint in the air that change is coming. I open the door wide for it.

Please, Change, come in, sit down, stay a while.

I have felt like it’s been yet another semester in the school of life, and fate has been helping me cram for test time. So much learning, so much growing. I am learning that I am not in charge. I am learning that I can plan all I want, but when push comes to shove, nobody ever plans to have things be difficult. They just are, sometimes.

So this week for our little Joyschool field trip we went to Apple Hill, or “Mountain Apple” as Tessa calls it. A short drive away from all my troubles, it is a cluster of little apple orchards and farms set on a hill that welcomes weary travelers to remember why Adam and Eve were so bummed to be cast out of the garden. With pumpkin patches and wooden bins of lovely, unwaxed apples, golden colored fresh-pressed cider, and the scrumptious smell of apple turnovers and pies wafting through the air, it is a blissful sensory adventure. It is not my messy house. It is not the funky smell in my kitchen that I can’t seem to find. It is not the boring food I keep buying because I have no time to cook. At Apple Hill I am renewed.


I breathe in the heavy, honey sweet smell of the cider press and the warm salty aroma of pie crust, the tang of the Granny Smiths, and see the day glow of pumpkins in the sun, and I begin to make new plans. Simple plans.

I want to be sure we carve pumpkins this year, and not it a hurried rush. I want to bake for my children and give them the memory of coming home to sweet, warm food made for them, not the left-overs of a meal made for someone at church, but just for them. I want to sit at the table and hear them talk about things I won’t hear about while we are rushing off to soccer or scouts or Daisies or the market (“Hurry, we’re late!”). And really, while I am talking here mostly about food, food is just a metaphor for time.

I brought home apples and Asian pears, and a turnover (just to get me in the mood). And I made a new plan.

I plan not to plan so much. I am going to try to cut out a few things. It’s true we can’t be all things to all people, and the more I try, the less I have to give to the people who matter most to me. What I do plan needs to matter. I plan to expend less energy stressing when stressing will not help. I plan to use the crock pot more. I plan to put more attention into the special details that let the people around me know that I care for them, and let the rest go.

Am I biting off more than I can chew? Am I overly optimistic? Maybe. Or maybe if I cut out the clutter it will be easy.

Easy as pie.