Cortlands

It never really was September til, we kids got packed away in the creme Chevy station wagon and were on the road to Cumberland. Terrison's Apple Orchard was the destination. It was always an afternoon of pure, unadulterated fun, racing around the trees and finally finding a 'loaded' one to climb. Most times, it was my brother and me doing the climbing and the tossing, and our sisters at the bottom doing the catching. I do remember a couple of times going there with the baby, Jojo, in Mom's arms walking through the orchard watching all the action. Dad was either filling the bushel wooden box or off at the barn talking to old man Terrison. Did he know everybody? It sure seemed so at the time. Back home, the bushel box was stored in the cool, dark dining room closet and every morning before heading out the door for Lincoln and every afternoon on return a visit to the closet for a tasty Mac, Cortland or Golden delicious, was a part of my routine. Ah, September!