Up in the sky is that big red apple balloon. And I know I'm home. Just right next to my elementary school and on my street. It's love, comfort, pride, home, heart, health and family. I used to go with Jenny every year to apple tasting. The whole neighborhood went, and all the rest of Mt. Tabor and Laurelhurst. It marked autumn. Chestnuts on the ground, broken open with the twist of the foot to expose the dark chocolate brown seeds inside. Trees of dark green proudly evergreen, and the sweet gum, maples lining the street. I crunched as many leaves as possible--i love the sound, all the while picking up the perfect specimens to bring home to mom. We proudly displayed them on our dining room table. The colors were brilliant, and my favorite leaves were the ones that showed the rainbow of fall--green mingling into orange, brown, red and golden yellow.
Jenny and I would go through the line at least twice a day. Tasting the sweet, sour, foreign and familiar apples. The treat would be the apple friders, and turning the crank to make homemade apple cider. Bales of hay for seats, plants surrounding us, a balloon clown, apple mural posters and folkmusic. A neighborhood hotspot. An annual gathering that everyone loved and looked forward to. Our favorite place.
It's going on right now back home. I miss Portland Nursery.