Last weekend was pretty busy, and this week has been too, so I haven’t had time to update you on the supercool things I did last weekend.
Okay, so I spend most of yesterday puttering around and watching a House marathon. I can’t help it. When I start watching that show, I just can’t stop. But anyway.
On Saturday I went with a group of folks from church to Honey Pot Hill Orchard to go apple picking. First of all, how perfect is that name? Doesn’t it sound amazingly inviting? The Orchard is about a 40 minute drive from my apartment, and it was beautiful all the way. Some of the trees had already started turning for Fall, and the little towns I drove through were lovely and quaint. I kept wanting to stop and take pictures, but the trip would have taken forever if I had so I didn’t.
The orchard itself was gorgeous. Hundreds of trees were laden with all kinds of bright, beautiful, fragrant apples. Some were a deep, rich, almost plummy red–a color I had never seen on apples before. And the trees were gloriously disheveled. They had been planted in straight rows, but the branches just grew in whatever way suited them. It was as if the trees had just flailed their branches wildly and then stuck in one position. I loved it. And I loved the sweet smell of the apples, and savoring the delightful sweet, juicy, crisp perfection of fruit that had never spend a moment under artificial lights or on a shelf. I hadn’t considered that apples would taste better fresh from the tree, but do they ever! I kept picking and picking and picking, filling my bag with apple after apple. I was greedy for apples. When all was said and done, I had picked about 8 pounds of delicious, wonderful apples. I had gulped done the most amazing apple cider I’ve ever tasted. And I had eaten an apple cider doughnut, which was delectable. And I kept thinking of Psalm 34:8–“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”
As if that weren’t enough adventure for one weekend, I went with my friends Katie and Jeremiah to hear the Boston Pops Orchestra. They were celebrating their 125th anniversary by playing a free concert on Boston Common. So we sat out on blankets spread over the soft grass of the Common and heard The William Tell Overture, a Christmas song, music from Harry Potter and Star Wars, a moving tribute to the Kennedy Brothers, and a 70s sing-along. Several dogs enjoyed the concert too, and there was a merry-go-round behind us, and a man wearing a jester hat was selling balloon animals. It was fantastic. After the show, we traversed the route of an exciting bicycling race over to the Quincy Marke where we ate clam chowder in bread bowls. Now, if you’ve never had New England Clam Chowder in New England, you’re missing out. It is so delicious–an utterly delightful way to end that afternoon’s adventure. Except that it didn’t quite end there. As we were walking out of Quincy Market, we heard the blended melody of an acapella group, so we followed the sound rounded the corner to find a five-man group on a bar patio, and we stood and listened for the last three songs of their set. The final song was a beautiful rendition of “Over the Rainbow.” And that was the final note of the musical adventure on Sunday afternoon.
The only other adventure this week happened on Wednesday. I’ve finally gotten the hang of the BC Shuttle. At least, I thought I had. Wednesday night after work, I walked out to wait on the bus, which was about ten minutes away so I pulled out my laptop to work on homework while I waited, and ended up chatting with a friend on Facebook. So when the bus pulled up, I scrambled to grab all of my things up and hopped on. Without checking that I was getting on the correct bus. You see, there are two shuttles–one that runs a route near my house, and one that runs back and forth between the Chestnut Hill campus (the one close to me) and the Newton Campus, which is about 15 or 20 minutes away. So I hopped on board and off we went. And went. And went. The inside of the bus is well-lit, so in the dark, it’s hard to see anything outside, but I soon became aware that we weren’t stopping at the usual places. Or any places. Oh no, I thought. I’ve gotten on the wrong bus! Sure enough. So I rode all the way out to the Newton campus, and didn’t see any of it because of the dark, and then rode all the way back, got on the correct bus, and made it home significantly later than expected.
In moments like that, and like when I locked my keys in my car, I can almost hear the I Love Lucy theme playing. It’s the only appropriate soundtrack for such comic mishaps.