Apple Hill. This is a place I have literally gone to every year of my life. It’s a place full of childhood nostalgia and warm memories of warm apple turnovers, fresh apples lining bins, family trips through the years, of throwing a football at Larsen’s meadow and watching the ducks on the pond at High Hill. It’s a place that’s tradition and a part of the fall season. And it’s also a place that, the last few years with little ones in tow, has quite frankly become pretty tough.
It’s hard. It was challenging (unfamiliar places with Sam always are) and frustrating at times (Sophie was acting every bit her age) and we almost turned around and left- gave up- within the first 30 minutes. But we stayed. We enjoyed the beautiful views and our time spent with friends, we ate apple pie and explored the pumpkin patch and got some lunch. We made the most of it. It’s not always “picture perfect”- good grief, is it ever?! But it is still perfect. It’s just our own, messy, real life, imperfect perfect. And I’m more than okay with that. Oh, and also, we came home with fresh apple donuts, so we all good. ;)