this is my scarecrow in my dried out corn patch... all my corn and sunflowers are about gone...but i can't let them go...i love to hear them rustling in the late afternoon wind...i have had the scarecrow for years and just can't bear to part with him even though he is looking kind of worn out...
we took a ride out to an old FARMSTAND with Teddy yesterday...
our apples are already starting to come in...
so i knew i had to make an APPLE PIE....
imade a quick crust...
i love my old pasrty wheel...
if i have time i always like making a lattice crust for the top...
weave it together...
and bake...tonight is the first PRESEASON football game..we're all set over here at FARMHOUSE KITCHEN....are you ?
My heart skipped a beat when I read it this morning. GOPHER GLEN IS OPEN FOR THE SEASON. The apple farm up See Canyon. Yep...you heard right guys. OPEN
I took a ride up this morning and as I drove I remembered last year, riding for the first time up the canyon with Buddy...heartbreak...again....but I had my little Teddy with me...and I looked at him tucked up on my lap and just smiled. The air felt cool as the canyon is very shady and it was still early in the morning. I felt the sun on my face as I drove looking at all of the branches hanging heavy with apples...i could smell that wine-ey , apple-ey scent in the air and could here the crows cawing in the trees...and I felt it. Late summer...that feeling of a change in seasons.
Rolling out dough for a pie my mind wandered to when I would return...
this weekend...for sure
as I fluted the crust of the pie I wondered what I would make next.... hhmmmm...my cinnamon apple cake? caramel apples? apple bread?
the crispy crunch of cutting that first apple
cutting the lattice for the top...i was smiling....
i wondered why i love baking pies so much...i always have...even when i was 8 years old...standing on the stool to reach the drainboard
the night will never stay, the night will still go by, though with a million stars you pin it to the sky; though you bind it with the blowing wind, and buckle it with the moon, the night will slip away like sorrow or a tune.