On Saturday night Joe and I were casually doing research about how to spend our Sunday afternoon when we learned Sunday was the absolute last day we could pick our own apples. Urgent message. As we all know, Midwestern and Easterners agree that if you didn’t pick your own autumn apples you might as well not live here at all. A colonial dame you are not.

joe & happy pink coat

On the other hand, as a young couple we have never really partaken in that other autumnal thing: pumpkins.

Last day of apple picking

At the orchard: a chicken royale.

Chicken magnanimous

Russell Orchards really knows how to work their barn aesthetic.

In Season

Discovered Edible Boston‘s new issue. So pretty. They use matte paper and lots of colors which just feels classy. I would like to write an article for them someday.
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What should I make with all these apples? Why does our hunter-gather instinct kick in so much that we have to restrain ourselves from racing to pick dozen of apples when most recipes request around four apples? How about cheddar and apple scones from the smitten kitten? I mean kitchen. Kitchen.

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