Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Fall Memories

My Oma piles up the cushions on the driver's seat of her 1984 baby blue Toyota Corolla.  Giddy, my sister and I slide into the backseat.  We are greeted by the comforting scent of dog that always lingers in the car.  Long dog fur covers the throw and attach themselves to our clothes.

Oma drives slowly down the empty road as we look out the windows at the cows and horses.  Finally, we pass the large home modeled after an Italian Villa (Oma always calls it the mobster's house), and turn down the dirt drive to the orchard.

There are apple trees everywhere we look.  Many are heavy with fruit, but the ones closest to the road have already been picked clean.

Oma parks in front of the old blue house.  We run to the door and let ourselves inside before she even has a chance to get out of the car.

The only light inside is sunlight filtering through the windows.  There are tables full of apples-bagged, loose, red, green.  We pick a bag of red apples and I look to make sure they aren't bruised or bug-eaten (I am super picky with my apples-they have to be perfect or I won't eat them).

I run to the refrigerator and grab a gallon of apple cider.  Oma opens the register and deposits money for the apples and the cider.  Before we're even back outside, my sister and I are crunching apples, smiles on our faces.

This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge.  This week we asked you to use the weather, or a photo of an autumn day bursting with color to inspire an autumnal memoir piece. Word limit is 300.

I knew I had to write, once again, about a memory I have with my Oma.  I loved going to her house in the fall because she would always take us to the apple farm.  It was always on a weekend morning when the store was closed, but, since she lived in a rural area, the farm owners would leave the door unlocked and trust anyone who came in to leave the money in the cash register.  I always thought it was so cool to be in a store that was closed and still get to pick out  my apples and cider.


  1. What a great memory! I really like the way you invoke a person on all the senses: from the smell of dog to the look of the apples. Thanks for sharing!

    -Barbara, @ derebus.net/home, via Write on Edge

  2. that is a glorious memory....wow, how lucky to have those moments fresh enough in your memory for us to hear the crunch of the apples. LOVED THIS.

  3. excellent trail down memory lane you took us on... i was right there with you!

  4. I love everything about this post, the memory itself, the way you wrote about it, how we agree about perfect apples, and the awesomeness of spending time with wonderful grandparents!

  5. Sigh.

    My kids call one of their grandmas Oma, too- I love that.

    I really adore the single details in this piece- the dog hair, the bare trees, the blue house.

    Just enough detail to take me there without bogging me down.


  6. So glad you chose to write about this. The idea of the closed store left open in trust is so intriguing. It is an experience not many of us have any more and it made the piece that much more rich and wonderful.