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What No One Really Tells you About Apple Picking

You’ve finally made it! Congratulations. You and your boyfriend, girlfriend, girl-friends, mom or dog have now been in the car for 1 to 2 hours and you have finally arrived at the farm. Never before have you ever had the desire to travel over an hour to actually pay someone to let you do manual labor. But you are excited “AF”. You hop out of the car, your boots and flannel feel at home here. You grab your apple picking bag that you have paid at least $25 for and you’re ready to climb some trees. Half way through, the excitement has worn off, and it’s time to do what you really came here for…Instagram pictures. 

You take pictures together, individual pictures, pictures eating the apples, pictures laughing near the apples, and if you’re lucky you find a pumpkin and pick it up and take a picture with the pumpkin. It’s all fun and games, everyone is happily posting to Instagram and all of your friends are getting likes and comments. You feel like you’re really accomplished the goal for the day. You’re farmer-AF and you looked cute doing it. Now as the sun is slowly dropping lower into the sky, it’s time to hop back into the car and make your way back to whatever suburb or city you escpaed from earlier that morning, bringing with you a bag of approximately 40 damn apples. The apples are the literal fruits of your labor, but you have so many.

At first you’re happy, maybe you’ll bake a pie:

Then you realize you still have nearly 30 apples:

Okay, okay there’s only like 24 now.. maybe you’ll just eat some:

A week has come and gone and you’ve eaten an apple every. single. day. – please no more apples:

The remaining apples are starting to get mushy:

Nearly 2 weeks have passed and you were unable to save the remaining 10+ apples: 

Apple picking is an enjoyable activity, but please remember those apples who do not survive the pick, or those who do not make it into delicious pies and desserts. Please, a moment of silence for those fallen apples. Happy picking, friends!

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Abby Welte


Manhattan College student majoring in Communication and an Intern for the New Jersey Devils. I'm not legally allowed to play board games in at least 9 states, enjoy long walks on a short pier, trying anything with frosting on it and yelling at my TV when hockey is on.
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