Rituals · Seasonal Journal

Among the
Apple Trees

The familiar thrill of searching for the perfect apple—and remembering how good it feels to play.

Freehold, New Jersey
United States

Endless rows of apple trees at Battleview Orchards beneath a clear sky

Why we return

Apple-picking season is approaching, and I hope you choose a place close by and let yourself enjoy it. It is one of those traditions we repeat every year—but why do we keep going back?

For me, the peace begins with simply standing among the trees: bright red apples in every shade, different varieties tucked into green leaves, and the rows arranged so neatly they seem to carry on forever.

Red apples reaching into a clear blue sky — Red against blue—the first glimpse overhead.

A tree filled with ripe red apples — Branches heavy with possibilities.

Apples growing beneath a canopy of green leaves — Looking closer beneath the leaves.

The little mission

There is a small thrill in having a mission: inspect each branch, compare one apple with the next, and climb a little higher when the best color and shape seem just out of reach.

A bright red apple held up among the trees — The almost-perfect one.

A hand gently picking a red apple from its branch — The moment it leaves the branch.

Orchard signs pointing toward Jonamac, Gala and Macintosh apples — Jonamac, Gala or Macintosh—choosing the next row.

Worth carrying home

By the end, the bag feels earned. The apples are fresher, the price is kinder, and you already know what comes next: a warm pie made from fruit you chose one by one.

A paper bag filled with freshly picked red and green apples — The day’s harvest, ready for home.

The part I keep

More than the apples, picking reconnects me with my inner child—the part that still loves a treasure hunt, climbing for something just out of reach, and feeling proud of a full bag.

It is a philosophy I return to whenever adulthood begins to feel heavy: make room for play, wonder, and the simple things that ask us to be fully present.

A woman smiling among apple-laden branches — Among the trees, feeling a little lighter.