Pie ohne unterhose can lead to unsightly burns

That, my friends, is a cherry-apple crisp. While I am not normally a food braggart, I feel this is a noteworthy foodstuff, not only because I made it with my own two (admittedly untalented in the culinary department) hands, but because I also picked the apples, just like in Olde Tyme Days. Every Columbus Day weekend, you see, I journey to parts north, where I meet up with the non-Germanic half of my family to pick apples, scour the thrift stores and hang out in a log cabin in a state park where we drink and play cards and mock my youngest nephew. (Don't cry for him--trust me, he loves it.)

This year's trip was uneventful, mostly, although it was unnaturally hot on apple-picking day, lending yet more evidence to my fear that we will all be fried from global warming sooner than we think. As is our tradition, we journeyed to Love Apple Farm after the apple picking.
























I have mixed feeling about this place. Although it is super-cutesy and offers many tasty delights, I am somewhat put off by the cheesecake marketing in which they engage:

do we really need calendars featuring a bunch of blonds in their underwear selling pie?


Usually we buy cider doughnuts, but this year it was so freakishly hot that most people were buying ice cream. I just busied myself taking pictures of pumpkins:

The next day it was off to Saugerties, which was very scenic:

Luckily, everyone there remainded fully clothed.