Look Wendell, I'm part of the cabal and stuff.

In principle, I am an agrarian who truly believes – has a proverbial testimony of – the benefits of cultivating the soil. I’m a huge proponent of sustainable agriculture, healthy communities, tangible connection to place and family, the pleasures and health of good food, self-sufficiency, and the harmony that comes from working with your hands and direct contact with nature. Think Old Yeller.

In reality, I am an urban-dwelling sham who drinks bottled water, buys produce from Costco, and inhales 4.67 trillion times the USDA-recommended daily value of carcinogens on my way to work. My house is on a ridiculously small lot, and planting tomatoes or rosemary is prohibited as per the tenets of my lease. These living conditions are extremely traumatizing for me at times.

So this fall a friend (read: somebody whom I had heard of once or twice) invited me (read: the entire ward) to go apple picking at a local (read: an hour away) orchard in Harvard, MA. I awoke at 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday so that I could support local farmers and delude myself into thinking that I was part of an important process. I have to admit that even though I had nothing to do with the selection, planting, tending, pruning, staking, watering, fertilization, or nurturing of the apple trees, I took great pleasure in picking and eating the fruits of somebody else’s labor. The area was really beautiful, and the crisp air brought a little life back into my free-radical-laden heart.

Notice that I am holding three half-eaten apples. This behaviour was allowed and even encouraged by the orchard owners.
The cashier was a cute old man wearing this pumpkin hat. When he saw my orange jacket, he got really excited and insited I try on his hat.