Having grown up in New York, the idea of Autumn commingles with the memories of apple picking. The trips upstate, driving on lonesome highways, surrounded by mountains in fiery splendor and the caravans of Filipinos, each bringing something good to eat, play in my mind whenever the first sign of chill begins.
When we got to the orchard we'd pile out of the car and examine what kind of "baon" (food brought for journeys or school or the office) everyone else brought. After a quick brunch, huddling on the grass, in thick sweaters or jackets, we'd grab baskets and begin picking.
I don't know why we took so many apples, I didn't even like apples as a kid. We would be plied with apples in our "baon" for school and I'd just end up giving it to friends.
When we got to the orchard we'd pile out of the car and examine what kind of "baon" (food brought for journeys or school or the office) everyone else brought. After a quick brunch, huddling on the grass, in thick sweaters or jackets, we'd grab baskets and begin picking.
I don't know why we took so many apples, I didn't even like apples as a kid. We would be plied with apples in our "baon" for school and I'd just end up giving it to friends.
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