A yearly autumn visit to an apple orchard has become a tradition for Rick and me, and this year was no exception. Last Sunday we drove forty minutes from our home to a delightful place called Minnetonka Apple Orchard in Minnestrista, Minnesota. For both of us, it was a day of being rather than doing. We simply strolled the sun-soaked grounds, walking in one direction and then another.
We were drawn, first, toward the wooded area surrounding the orchard, where we stepped gently over dry, autumn leaves crinkling beneath our feet. We gazed at the sun beaming through lofty trees, casting shade and light, one complementing the other.
And then there were the families, smiling, laughing, moving along no particular course, just headed toward whatever caught their eye. Some waited in line for a tractor-trailer ride that would offer them a seat to rest their feet. Others meandered through the gift shop, eager to buy soup mixes, candles, potpourri and all-things autumn. Some reminded children that pumpkins were not for sitting on.
Later we made our way into the orchard itself, where rows of apple trees lined up in single file. Each tree displayed its own apples that seemed to call out for picking.
We didn’t pick apples that day. This was a day to take pictures, relish the orchard’s colorful presence, and delight in the day’s gladness.
And we did.