Los Aldama

What a perfect setting: the rolling California foothills, blanketed with a low layer of clouds. We covered our heads with our hoods, so the drizzling mist wouldn't get us too wet. The smell of warm apple pastries filled the air, and took me back to when I was Noelle's age. It was such a treat to go to Apple Hill as a child. There was that pitiful little pond that houses close to a thousand stocked trout. I still stood and gazed across its surface in hopes that I would see some fish jump out of the water, and a little part of me wished I'd have brought my pole. Apple Hill is an autumn icon. Hoards of people flood the small community of Camino just to perhaps relive some of their fondest childhood memories and traditions, or do like we did and start new fall-time traditions with their own children. One of my favorite items at Apple Hill is that dumpy looking, yellow thermos that sits on the edge of a wall (and I am sure it is the same one I saw as a kid). The thermos is full of fresh-squeezed apple juice, and is surrounded by disposable Dixie cups that are used to test its yummy taste. There was an eerie feeling walking up and down, and in and out of all the craft boutiques, because there were only a handful of people that were doing the same. Usually the isleways are filled shoulder to shoulder with people looking to buy some little knick-knack. I always thought my Big Grandma was the only person that bought things from those shops (if you saw her seasonal decorations you'd understand). Conversely, the restaurant area where you can buy the famous Apple Hill Apple Fritter was still shoulder to shoulder filled with people.
So our first Apple Hill trip was one for the books. Noelle loved being outdoors, where she was able to wander and absorb her surroundings. Unfortunately, our trip was shortened due to the increasing threat of rain; that's okay, new memories were made, and a new autumn tradition was started. Until next time...