I am in love. Love in the truest form. As I reminisce about times gone by, a burning childhood delight is eclipsed in my mind. It starts to infiltrate my thinking process around September every year. This unforgettable delight I love so much is a piece of historical significance. Burned into my memory forever.
Of course I’m talking about Bayfield apples (Best in the country.) Cortland and Macintosh, my favorites, pressed into my memory forever. I need to quench the thirst each year. Oh, how do I love Bayfield apples! The taste that sends my taste buds aquiver.
My memory moment starts like this: I’m located in a vast apple orchard, standing underneath an apple tree. The limbs weighed down by abundant apples. I pick the perfectly scrumptious comfort fruit. (I like apples best right before turning red-tart, with the hint of sweetness. I think this is the perfect eating time?) I wipe off the apple on my pants. Shine it up to a gloss. Lift it to my awaiting taste buds, almost drooling and anticipating the flavor explosion, I open my mouth and bite into this fruit from the earth and wait for the tartness to flow to my brain cells. My body temporarily quivers. I wait for a few seconds until my body adjusts to the tartness.
My first chewing motion is pure delight. Savoring the distinct flavor. At that moment nothing else matters. My hunger has been filled. I take each bite like it will be my last. The taste, the moment, is only connected with Bayfield apples. As I reach the core, I recall additional apple delights: Apple pies, caramel apples and bobbing for apples in a washtub. This moment takes me to a place of childhood comfort. A place of solace, a place that belongs, a place that is forever.
This piece of memory, simple, crisp and clean, lets me know how much a moment can last. Every time I bite into a Bayfield apple, it triggers a taste that enlightens my life. The taste of a perfect apple-grown the way it was meant to be.
This year I did quench my thirst at the Bayfield Apple Festival. I can’t wait until next year.