My husband Chank, my son Maximillian, and I visited Minnetonka Orchards in Minnetrista last weekend. There we discovered an endless parade of distractions to keep a two-year-old entertained for hours: hay stacks for jumping, tractors for riding, a corn crib for climbing, a pygmy pony for petting, goats for startling, chickens for clucking, turkeys for whistling (too young to gobble, I guess), old Tonka trucks for pushing, big wooden trains for climbing, cider for sipping, donuts for dunking, and apples for picking.
The orchard was filled with Honeycrisp, Haralson, and Cortland apples clustered on the small trees. Their twisted branches arched to the ground, weighed down by the bounty of fruit. We picked a peck of Honeycrisp, far superior in flavor to the others and far pricier, too – $35 for a bag! I convinced Chank to splurge for a peck with the promise of a homemade apple pie (guaranteed bliss when made with Pastureland butter). Each morning for breakfast since, I savor the crunch of every sweet-tart bite and relish the memory of our little guy plucking his own apples with his precious little hands.
Apple-pickin' Andermacks
