There have been too many days at Wellesley where it looked so beautiful outside – when sunlight would filter perfectly through the tree leaves and Lake Waban would glisten as though it were covered in glitter. On too many of those days, I stayed in and studied instead, wallowing with fellow Wellesley peoples in the packed Clapp library. But, this past Saturday, I broke the cycle to go apple-picking with Zeta Alpha.
A little side-note: I’m a member of Society Zeta Alpha (ZA)! Wellesley has a number of societies on campus that are basically intentional communities of friends – intentional to the point where we are family. Some other societies Wellesley has are Tau Zeta Epsilon (TZE) – the arts and music society, and Agora – the political society. ZA is the literary society, so we have events and traditions focused around literature. For instance, every semester we host a campus-wide event called Fireside Poetry, which is a wholesome evening in the ZA house where anyone can share poetry they like, poetry they’ve written, or anything at all. Feel free to explore societies more on their Instagrams or Websites – I’ve hyperlinked the websites of the three societies above.
Back to apple-picking, we went on a 15 minute drive in three cars to Sunshine Farm. I didn’t realize apple-picking was so pricey until the cashier rang up $180 for four bags. Was it worth it for the memories? I’d like to think so – the money has been spent anyway, no use in being a pessimist after the matter.
With four empty bags in hand, we split up into four groups. Our group went straight for the rows of honeycrisp apple trees. I took a photo of the bright white sign displaying “Honey Crisp” written in cute bold font to send to my brother-in-law because honeycrisps always remind me of him and my sister’s family. Every time we go to a supermarket together he would make sure to check the prices of honeycrisp apples. On Friday nights, after putting his 1-year-old son to bed, we would wait in the kitchen and watch as he cut the honeycrisps he snagged on sale and tucked away specifically for this occasion: baking an apple tarte tartin. The smell of sugar caramelizing on the stove and of apples being cooked tell me that I’m home. To be honest, I’m still not really close friends with most of the lovely people in ZA – I’m still worried about fitting in and talking to people I’m not quite sure how to talk to. But, these memories of my brother-in-law – his obsession with catching a good deal on honeycrisps and his apple tarte tartins – dispelled my anxieties a little bit. Maybe I could find some semblance of “home” in ZA; maybe it’s alright that I’m not close friends with all of them yet; maybe it’ll be okay and I just have to let loose and have as much fun as possible despite my worries.
I’m glad to say that it was a fun time! There was a moment where we spotted a beautiful-looking apple on top of a tree – it was so red! Ada, May, Natalie, and Paula even boosted me up just to pick it. Everyone cheered when I plucked the apple, but then we all groaned in dismay when we saw that the top of the apple was all scraped up – it’ll probably rot soon. We took many fun photos, joked about doing the “sorority squat”, saw many wasps, and took some time to explore the little farm stand at the front of the orchard. There was apple cider, apple cider donuts, pumpkin butter, and ice cream. I got a scoop of maple walnut flavored ice cream – it was a cherry on top after two long hours of apple-picking. On the way back to Wellesley, Paula drove our little apple-picking group home and blasted “Hey Stephen” by Taylor Swift in her car, rolling down the windows and yelling “I better see y’all smiling!”
Apple-picking with ZA felt sweet. It was a pleasant surprise to feel my nervousness dissipate as the hours passed by. In the nuggets of time I have in between all of the studying, I think I will try to put myself out of my comfort zone more. I’ll hang out with people I don’t know well; I’ll try things I’ve never done before; I’ll make a point to go out into the city more often; and I’ll carry the memory of my brother-in-law’s apple tarte tartins with me along the way.