It Wasn't Me

Fall has suddenly come to our little corner of New Hampshire. Overnight temperatures are practically frosty and the days have that brisk, crisp, nip in the air that makes wimps like me reach for fleece. Even Señor broke out one of his disgustingly shabby much loved rugby shirts  - a clear indicator that winter is on its way.

For a week or so, I've been making noises about picking apples... specifically sweet-tart and crunchy Empire apples. So yesterday, my wonderful husband drove to my favorite orchard - Mack's Apples in Londonderry - and parked at orchard #3, the tried and true mother lode of delectable Empire apples. And because I am a sport, I was going to let Señor also pick some Red Delicious (even though they taste like cardboard.)

The PYO signs stated that only McIntosh and Jonagold apples were available for picking.

"What do you mean, you can't pick Empires!" I practically shrieked at the cashier. I had already fluffed my handled paper picking bag in anticipation.

Señor was more politic, calmly asking, "When will the Empire apples be ready to pick?

The girl rifled through a clipboard weighted with schedules and cantankerous customer strategies and responded, "The third week of September."

"This is the third week of September." Señor replied and received a pained look for his insistence.

I think, "It's in God's hands" was on the tip of her tongue.

Meanwhile, I calmly refolded my bag, snuggled it back in the bag rack, and sniffed, "Well, we don't want any of your bogus apples today. Thanks."

Señor and I decided to check out Mack's farm stand down the road on the chance that they might have a stash of premature Empire apples somewhere amid the pies, jams, donuts, candies, vegetables and fruits. But before we left, I hauled out my camera, so the picking experience won't be a total loss.

Señor begged to take a photo of me, which I usually refuse because I hate having my picture taken. But I was feeling generous because he had just driven thirty miles to accommodate my cravings, and somewhere in the posing - which just happened to be next to a Red Delicious tree - he urged my hand to a specimen which - SURPRISE - just happened to fall off in my palm. Almost.

I thought it would be a shame to leave it on the ground, and I sure wasn't going to return it to the snarky cashiers - so, I whisked it into the car.

"You take the first bite," Señor prompted.

"Oh, no! I'm not taking the blame this time. You take the first bite, Adam."

What came to us was the knowledge that the Red Delicious apples weren't quite ripe, but we ate the slightly green delicacy nonetheless. Sinners all the way.

Ironcially, another young woman was leading her man to his doom at the same time:

In the end, I didn't feel guilty about our purloined treat. When Señor later paid $7.80 for six average-sized Honeycrisps, it begged the question just who was getting robbed. And in a week or so, we'll go back and spend twice as much for those precious Empires.