Sunday mornings in London are covered in vomit. The sidewalks are anyway. From the sheer amount of puke I've observed on the sidewalks of Limehouse on Sunday mornings I have concluded that, for most Londoners, Sunday is for absorbing hangovers.
Some weekends it's necessary to get away to a place where Wellies are not only stylish, but also practical. So this Sunday we were destined for Reading to visit friends who live in the charming town of Cavisham, Wellie central, where the apple harvest is well underway. The orchard we visited is known for growing rare breeds. We learned that the rise of the supermarket lead to the decline and fall of the flavorsome apple. But apples are delicious again in rural Oxfordshire. I very nearly tasted myself to extreme bellyache. There were just so many varieties to try. My favorites were the Falstaff (dry, crisp), the Bramley (for cooking), the Egremont Russet (rich and earthy), and the classic Cox's Orange Pippin.
Our friend Mark is an amateur beekeeper, but sshhhhh don't tell the neighbors. He is the youngest beekeeper in his beekeeping club by at least two decades. These are Mark's bees. He and his bees are very popular with us because they make honey. Pete and I returned home with a jar of late-summer honey from Mark's collection.
Happy harvest!
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