There is, in my Not humble opinion, few things more lovely on a cool, August day than ferreting out the first dropped apple and eating it.  This may be because we have a wonderful old style McIntosh.  It has small little apples, barely bigger than a crabapple, unsprayed, unreachable, and incredibly crisp and sweet.  But not too sweet, no toothache.  No mealiness either. Of course, given the bugs, and the odd shapes, and the bruises, one can only get a few bites per apple.  But, that almost makes them better…

 

(and no, I don’t wash them, or peel them, or cut them!)