Happy October, My Friend!
Ahhh, Apple Festival. When the little burg of Bayfield, Wisconsin, becomes a bustling mecca. People from hither and yon come to partake in the apples, apple cider, apple crisp, carameled apples, and, perhaps, the crème de la crème—apple pie (you should hear angels singing from the heavens when you read “apple pie.”) Bayfield fruit orchards are busy all summer providing visitors with raspberries, strawberries, blueberries, cherries . . . And the crowing glory in the fall—apples.
Apple Festival wasn’t always the huge tadoo it is now. Back when I was a kid, there was a parade on Sunday afternoon, some apple stuff for sale, and that was it, thank you very much. But now! There are food vendors galore, a carnival, craft vendors, live bands, and helicopter rides. Of course, there are still all the apples.
When Kevin and I were up that way last week, it just happened to be Apple Festival weekend. We swore up and down we were not going—we were not dealing with those crowds and the parking! Too much commotion! And yet, there we were, driving to Bayfield on Saturday morning.
We paid too much for a place to park, but it was a gorgeous day, and we didn’t even mind the crowds and crowded parking lots. Being there reminded me of another time I was at a sort of “pre” Apple Festival celebration.
We were up at our cabin seven years ago, and my mom was still alive. She was living at an assisted living facility in our hometown. It was the custom of the Apple Festival to invite all the senior citizens of the area (and that would encompass three towns) over to the big Bayfield pavilion the weekend before the festival and serve them all apple pie and coffee. The activity director at the place where my mom and one of my aunts lived was taking a group of residents to this event. My mom was first in line to sign up! She never met a dessert she didn’t like. (Well, actually, she did, and that’s a pretty funny story in itself. Fodder for another post.) Since I was visiting from Florida, I was able to ride along with the group from my mom’s place.
First of all, as we arrived at the pavilion, so did every other bus and van full of old folks! This pavilion sits at the bottom of a big hill, right on the lakeshore. It was packed with buses and vans. I don’t know how, but our driver managed to turn our van around, so we were pointing up the hill. If he didn’t have the emergency brake engaged, we would all end up in the lake. It took a good while to get everyone off the van as several people were in wheelchairs or using walkers. It was quite an undertaking getting everyone into the pavilion.
I have to tell you that my mom went to this event year after year, hoping to be crowned the “oldest woman” there. They always found out who was the oldest man and who was the oldest woman, and they received some sort of honorary hullabaloo. My mom lived to be 98 and a half but never received that honor. There was a woman at the nursing home in town who just kept winning because she just kept living! She was over 100 years old and kept showing up year after year! The nerve!
I was sitting at a table between my mom and aunt. I might have been the youngest person in the room at 56. A cheery woman in an apple apron came with apple pie for everyone. I can’t remember if it was ala mode or perhaps topped with a slice of cheddar (hey, it’s good like that!), but we gobbled it up happily. We had coffee too (probably decaf, as that seems to be what older people drink. Note to my family: Never, and I mean never, serve me decaf coffee if/when I’m old. The audacity.)
A DJ was playing old-time music, and my mom was in her glory. After we sat there for a little while, the cheery lady came by again, refilling coffee cups, and my mom asked her if she could have a second piece of pie! I felt the whole room gasp. “Please, sir, I’d like some more.” The cheery lady replied, “I don’t see why not!” and retrieved a second slice of pie for my mother.
You should have seen my mom’s eyes light up. She looked like she was six years old and had just been handed the biggest present from Santa Claus. She ate every bit of her second piece.
That evening, we took her to Patsy’s Bar for dinner—ahem—supper. Patsy’s is the heart of our hometown. If it was a Friday, we definitely had fish fry; if it was another night of the week, probably one of their fabulous burgers. As we were leaving Patsy’s, pushing my mom’s wheelchair through the front doors, a couple walked in. It was the woman who gave my mom two pieces of pie earlier that day! My mom’s eyes lit up again, and she grabbed hold of the woman’s hands. The woman was a bit startled at first, but my mom held on to her and said, “You’re the one who gave me two pieces of pie today! Thank you so much!” You would have thought this woman had saved my mom from a burning building! The cheery woman recognized my mom, then smiled back at her and said, “You’re very welcome.” And on we went.
What is the moral of this story? There are a few:
- Never pass up an opportunity to serve another person. It might mean more to them than you will ever know.
- Never pass up an opportunity to say “thank you” to someone who has brightened your day.
- Never pass up dessert. Grab two while you’re at it. And if you don’t eat sugar, indulge in something else that makes you happy.
I hope you find something you love this week—and maybe even get a double dose of it!
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
See the smile and sparkle in her eyes? That’s happiness.