This weekend, DN and I ventured out to the very edge of the suburbs, where there is still farmland. (We spotted horses and alpacas, of all things.) Our first stop was a farm that runs an incredible business each year selling pumpkins, sunflowers, apples, and vegetables. Mostly, they sell an Instagrammable Autumn. Everyone there is wearing flannel and boots. There are lots of babies being perched on bales of hay.
I am not judging — I, too, partake in the marketplace of October content.
We did pick some delicious Stayman apples, which I will put into a pie when I feel up to it. (Making my first pastry dough of the season is always a real hurdle.) We also grabbed Asian pears and sampled the fruits of a few other rows, as well.
To appreciate the wild and sharp flavors of these October fruits, it is necessary that you be breathing the sharp October or November air. The outdoor air and exercise which the walker gets give a different tone to his palate, and he craves a fruit which the sedentary would call harsh and crabbed. They must be eaten in the fields, when your system is aglow with exercise, when the frosty weather nips your fingers, the wind rattles the bare boughs or rustles the few remaining leaves, and the jay is heard screaming around. What is sour in the house a bracing walk makes sweet.
–Henry David Thoreau, from Wild Apples
On our way home, we stopped at a place called “Brookeville Beer Farm.” What is a beer farm, you ask? I’m not sure. But this place had a similar edge-of-the-suburbs vibe, in that it was clearly set up for a mix of adult and child groups and the space was sprawling. I had a pretzel with beer cheese and couldn’t complain. It was a very October day — down to the frosty weather nipping my fingers. I think it’s time to get out my jackets!