Isn't there something so romantic about fruit trees? I think that sentiment might come from the sense of history and care that I imagine has gone into their planting, generations ago. The picture above is of a small mikan tree in my grandmother's garden in Japan. Mikan ripen in the late fall and early winter, and I remember being bundled up for the cold before going out and picking the tree clean of those sweet, juicy oranges.
Blueberry bushes and apple orchards hold a place in my heart as well, thanks to my time in Vermont. In the summer I would visit blueberry farms and choose the largest carton to fill berries with. While other people were tasting and picking their berries at a relatively similar rate, I was single-minded in my concentration and determined to fill that carton. I would later emerge, child-like and triumphant, to show off my overflowing carton and dole out the deliciously sweet, fingertip staining blueberries.
In the fall, my friends and I would make our annual pilgrimage to the nearby apple orchards. And despite carrying heavy bags filled to the brim with enough apples to last months, we would always stop to partake of apple cider and donuts. It was a gorgeous, foliage-filled autumnal tradition that might have contributed to my notion of romantic apple orchards.
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