It has been raining for about a week straight. It’s cold and damp. It reminds me of home. There’s a comforting smell about it. The open patio door that leads to my bleak concrete balcony lets a sweet fragrant air waft in from the trees. It reminds me of apple picking in New York. The way the midday autumn sun cooks the fallen apples on the grass has a distinct smell. Apple picking has evolved over the years from a simple outing of just plucking your own bushel, to expensive and crowded family hell-fests. I’ve attended many of these apple picking outings with my children, because that’s what you do. These are my fondest memories of them growing up. The sticky hands from the candy apples. Petting zoos, and getting hopelessly lost in a satanic corn maze. Even my 4 yr old son getting scared out of his mind by screaming hysterical teenage girls in a haunted house. I wouldn't trade these memories for anything in the world.