Thursday’s Poem: Butter or pie

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Butter or pie

We left Portland early. By 8am, at least. On our way out to Hood River we decided that we had no idea where we were going. “The Fruit Loop” was the answer, where it started was the question. The fellow at the Mobile (just off the highway) was real helpful, sent us up the right hill, said “go clockwise, the apples only get better as the hours pass”. There were fruit stands everywhere, but we wanted a real experience, picking apples for ourselves. The first orchard was a bust, I guess that guy at the gas station was right. They did have farm animals though. Never been so close to a pig. Man, that little fucker stank. At the second orchard, “Mallory’s”, or “Mallardies”, or something, we scored big. 20 pounds it seemed. And the pickers were having a fiesta, dancing to Nortena music, selling tamales for a $1.25, (all the hot sauce you could pour), and warm cider. I had two, Megan had one and some bites of my second. On our way home we talked about what we were going to do with all those apples. I said apple butter, Megan wanted pie. There was probably enough for both.

– Michael Bussmann

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