There's an area in the Sierra foothills, just north of here, known as Apple Hill. I don't know how many square miles it encompasses, but it began with 16 original "ranches," and has more than that now. I haven't figured out why they're called ranches, because they're orchards. From Labor Day until Christmas Eve they are open to the public, selling apples and all things apple, plus some other fruits and arts and crafts. Some of the bigger ranches have ponds for fishing, ponies for riding, etc. Closer to November, the Christmas tree "ranches" start selling trees.
Brooke and I went there last Saturday. The fritters weren't great, but the cider is wonderful. Best of all was the scenery. It felt like we were driving through a National Park. Even though it's next to a freeway, it's so shrouded in trees that it feels more remote. I loved it--even saw 1 or 2 leaves that had turned color. Great celebration of autumn.
This Saturday is the Chicken Festival in Fair Oaks Village, where the chickens roam freely all the time. I already have my chicken souvenir, though. At Apple Hill I found a chicken made from horseshoes--perfect for my place back home.
With the Gourd Festival coming up next, I should be able to celebrate all season long.
Oh, and the work's going well, too.
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