The apple trees were upside down and blurred as I watched them fly past me as I lie on my back in the backseat of my family sedan. I drifted in and out of sleep, as the sound of the pavement below lullabied my slumber. 

We were returning from visiting relatives in New York City and were now traveling in the rural farmland on the way home in New Jersey. This was day of boredom for my six- year-old self, listening to adults yammer on about something I had no interest in. But now we were going home and the bright red of the apples in the orchard appeared as polka dots melting into the green leaves as we drove on. Suddenly dad stopped the car. 

I sat up and looked around to see an orchard with apple-laden trees as far as I could see. Under the trees, horses meandered, lazily picking at apples that had fallen on the ground. The scent of apples was overwhelming. Sweet and intoxicating, I could almost taste and feel the crunch of the apples they were enjoying. 

We walked to the fence and Dad lifted me so I could stand on the middle rail and the horses, as curious as we were, came to the fence to say hello. 

Dad picked up an apple, wiped it on his shirt and gave it to me. I took a bite of the apple but before I had a chance to experience the juicy fruit, I took it out of my mouth and offered it to the courageous mare who stood in front of us.