To speak of Autumn as “Fall” is apparently a North American custom and having to do, they say, with the “fall of leaves.” Maybe; what I see much more of at the moment is the fall of apples. There are three old apple trees on the property with three very different kinds of apples. In a good year, they produce bushels, and this is a good year. We gave away bushels from one tree, used another couple of bushels for cider, and it’s still producing. I’ve been making two or three quarts of applesauce almost every night.

They say that Eve was tempted by this fruit
And took of it and gave it to the man
And they did eat, and so it all began:
No longer happy in their birthday suit
They learned to sew, and then they made a wheel,
And then computers and the internet
And fast food outlets so that we can get
Our fries and burgers for the evening meal

But tell me honestly: who would have thought
Our infants still would want their applesauce —
Although from jars? And though the loss
Of innocence has made a world distraught
With conflict, wars and terrorism, I
Am tempted still by fresh-baked apple pie.

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