When I was a little girl, and the leaves began to turn, I knew it was about time.
Time for autumn, the fall of the year.
Time for apple cider, and warm fuzzy sweaters.
Apple butter on warm toast.
With the chill in the air, and the clear blue of the 'almost dusk' sky, my thoughts turn back to the mountains.
Time for apples.
The smell of fireplace wood smoke, as evening is coming on, holds something special for me.
October falls softly in Carolina.
Like a spent leaf sighing slowly to the earth.
Time to gather round the hearth.
My grandpa had such a love for the mountains. He was ready, no matter what time of year it was, to get in the car, and head for the “hills”. We lived in the Piedmont of North Carolina. Just some low rising hills around . The mountains of the area, are not really what I would consider to be mountains, they are really tall “hills“.
The mountains call me back ‘home’ this time of year, every year, it is just in my blood. Can’t seem to help myself.
When there is still some color in the trees, the air is crisp, and the skies are blue, it is time.
We would stop along the way, at a roadside stand, for apples, cider, and honey. The signs were emblazoned on the path and beckoned you to stop for quite a ways before you actually got there. Excitement growing with each new sign.
A rite of the changing seasons, this journey to the mountains.
Indelibly imprinted on me, just like heading to Filbert, South Carolina when summer peaches are ripe and sweet. The best place in the world for peaches.
It is just something that you do.
Part of who you are.
Part of where you come from.
On our recent trip up to “the mountains” , the smell of sweet apples, and the hope of the tartness to come, lured me to stop along side the highway to sample them. We came back with more than enough for the both of us.
I like the ones that my grandma always called "poppy". The ones that are sweet up front, after the first bite, then they cause that tingle along your jawline. That tingle of slightly tartness. Do you know the ones? The 'poppy' ones..you know. Grin.
We stopped at Saylor’s Orchard, in Bakersville, NC. We were not disappointed. My friend, Jack, at the Grist Mill, highly recommended these apples. They call their ‘signature’ apple the “ Saylor’s Sunrise“.
They are awesome!
Golden, red, and delicious.
Saylor’s is owned and operated by Jim and Jean Saylor. You can’t miss it, you can see it from the road. The view of the valley from their apple stand is an added bonus. While we were there , a deer passed in the orchard, down below.
A beautiful sight.
When I walked into the apple store, I was entranced with the sweet, tantalizing smell of mountain apples.
It was so thick with fragrance, that it made you feel like you had stepped inside of a basket of apple blossoms.
Stop by and get a large bag of those fragrant apples . You will be glad you did.
