I had my first bite of a September apple last week, sampling a crisp Macintosh from the white bag on the kitchen counter. It tasted delicious: tart, juicy, the embodiment of fall in New England. And I was stunned by the wave of sadness that followed it.
Since I moved to Boston, apples have been tangled up with September: crisp sunny days, cool nights, black-eyed Susans and dahlias and late daylilies in the flower beds around town. September is the start of the academic year, and in a city like Boston, that shifts the rhythm in a big way. And every fall, September has meant apple picking.
Apple picking was and is a beloved tradition for my former church. I’d eaten apples all my life, but there are no apple orchards in West Texas, and I wasn’t prepared for the sight of their rambling, gnarled branches heavy with fruit. I fell instantly in love.
Last year, some dear friends who’d moved away came back to visit for a long weekend, and we made sure to plan our apple-picking excursion when they were here. We wandered the orchard and filled our bags to bursting and ate the traditional orchard lunch of hot dogs and apple cider donuts. There were photos and laughter and tired kiddos, and cold, fresh cider. It felt right.
This year, so much has shifted: I’m living across the water in Eastie, spending my Sunday mornings sleeping in or running instead of going to church. I’m navigating the end of the marriage whose story began when I was in college. I am not who I was, and my life is a testament to that fact. But it is still September, and the apples have appeared at the farmers’ markets and grocery stores.
I’ll keep eating them, because the flavor and enjoyment are worth the reminder of all I have lost. Things are different now, but life is still full of sweetness. I’m trying to feel it all, live it all, truly taste both the grief and the joy.
cakes, tea and dreams 
This is so bittersweet. Raw and true. Lovely. You are stronger than you know. Take care of you.
Thank you so much. xx
If you find them, eat an empire apple for me and I hope it will taste like solidarity.
Thanks, friend.
I, too, have very fond memories of picking apples from our families orchard in September and October. I remember the crisp cold, sun-filled days while I picked. I loved getting lost in the tree branches and filling my basket with the little red globes. My Grandmother and I would spend the entire next day turning the apples into apple butter or apple pies or apple crisps or spend the entire day canning them. We would even peel and slice the apples and cook them slowly with cinnamon and sugar and eat them with vanilla ice cream later that evening. I celebrate this time of year when all of the autumn fruits and vegetables are ready for harvesting and remember of magical days gone by. Apples are a gift. Today is a gift. Enjoy!
Oh, that’s lovely. Apples are a gift!
Hi Katie, I love reading your blog, all the way from London. Change is always difficult, especially when it comes with loss. I ended my 20 year relationship a few years ago with my first love and it hurt me to my core to do so. In that time, I lost my father just four weeks after my mums cancer diagnosis.
Four years later, I can honestly say that I love the woman I’ve become, the life I have now and whatever the future might bring – I’m grateful for it. I learnt who I was as just me, by myself. I discovered a sense of self-worth and confidence I’d never had before and I like who I am. I am grateful for the life lessons and I just wanted to say, show up, live life and know that the next phase is going to be just right for you.
Thank you so much, Sabina. Such lovely words. I’m sorry for your losses, and so glad you are in a good place now. x