The Day I went to the Orchard
The day I turned ten stands out in my mind, for several reasons: we were in the United States, which meant I got to celebrate my birthday with my cousins, aunt and uncle, and my grandma. That wasn’t something we got to do very often. In fact, that was one of maybe two birthdays that I remember celebrating with them. Anyway, the year I turned ten, I also got some glittery butterfly clippies that I had been eyeing in the store for weeks--you know, those clips that were all the rage, that worked perfectly to make cornrows in my hair. Yeah…those clips were the best! And then, the main reason I remember that birthday: my family and I went to the apple orchard for the morning.
Let me explain why this was such a big deal: I hated apples. I would eat them in something (like apple crisp or apple muffins, and perhaps apple pie, but I doubt I’d ever even eaten apple pie back then.) But to eat them plain, no way. It’s not that I really had anything against them, I just have any reason to like them! So when it was suggested that we “go to the orchard to pick apples” as a birthday activity and everyone thought it was a grand idea, what option did I have but to go along?
Obviously, this was one of those times where my little sin-nature kicked in and I thought the world revolved around me and what I wanted. And when that didn’t happen, it wasn’t pretty.
Strange how I still remember that day, almost 20 years ago!
Thankfully, I’ve had a change of heart since then. God is slowly working to show me how selfish I can be. It is a work in progress. I’m also learning to really like apples. I only have close to ten pounds of apples laying in a pile next to my pantry. I only put chopped up apples in the salad that I take to work every day. I’ve only been craving for the last month making any and every kind of apple dessert possible. I only just have an apple pie baking in the over right now, instead of a birthday cake.
No, when my birthday rolled around again this year, it wasn’t even a question what kind of pie I would make: Apple pie is the way to go, not cake or some other kind of pie. Whenever I make a pie, but especially when I make an apple pie, Isaac and I have this incredibly romantic tradition: we each eat a piece (or two) in the evening, while it is still warm, with a cup of hot coffee. And then, for every breakfast after that, we eat one slice each, every morning, until it is all gone. We usually have pie for three breakfasts in a row.
How’s that for some birthday cake?
I didn’t have the option of not going to my own birthday outing, but I think I made it clear I wasn’t too happy about it. In fact, I think I was rather a grump the whole time. I mean, wasn’t I the one who was supposed to choose what to do on my birthday? So then why did I have to act like I like apples and sit around while everyone tried homemade apple cider from the orchard store? How can anyone like that stuff? Such thoughts kept running through my mind.
Strange how I still remember that day, almost 20 years ago!
No, when my birthday rolled around again this year, it wasn’t even a question what kind of pie I would make: Apple pie is the way to go, not cake or some other kind of pie. Whenever I make a pie, but especially when I make an apple pie, Isaac and I have this incredibly romantic tradition: we each eat a piece (or two) in the evening, while it is still warm, with a cup of hot coffee. And then, for every breakfast after that, we eat one slice each, every morning, until it is all gone. We usually have pie for three breakfasts in a row.
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