Ellen Gamerman’s family has always gone apple picking. Her latest trip looked more like a theme park. State troopers worked the traffic. A man in a neon vest pointed her to a parking field far from the trees. Portable toilets stood in a long row. And right by the gate, a woman hung over a fence post and lost a bellyful of apples. That’s the scene she paints in a very funny Review essay. It’s also where a lot of family money goes this time of year.
Her point is that the orchard trip has become a big, stressful hunt for joy. It still builds family memories, and small farms count on the money. It also means a long wait for cider doughnuts, an extra charge for the corn maze, and a bag that feels heavier every minute. One New York orchard has added pig races, a climbing wall and a burger barn. The pigs aren’t real. Orchards sell the day in price tiers, which she calls the farm version of VIP bottle service. Pick your package. Pay accordingly.
The farms have their own complaints. Last year Lynd Fruit Farm in Pataskala, Ohio, told visitors it would bring in the sheriff if they stuffed apples out of sight at checkout. The farm said single hauls ran $80, $160 and even $400. A co-owner says he’s seen women sitting on $20 worth of produce. That tells you two things. Apples at the orchard aren’t cheap. And some people would rather risk a sheriff than pay the going rate for a bag of McIntoshes.
What she remembers
Gamerman’s childhood orchards in upstate New York didn’t care much about visitors. Nobody bothered to pull the poison ivy off the trunks. Her family spread a blanket, ate fried chicken and watched the clouds go by. One year she dropped an apple from a tree and caught her dad right in the eye. He saw a floater in that eye for years. Today it’s more like rush hour on the subway. Two families spot the same tree and the race is on. Her son is aging out of the whole thing. His one apple-picking memory, she thinks, is the woman throwing up by the gate. “I’ll take it,” she writes. They were together, and it was fall, and the air was crisp. That’s enough.
Our read
This is cash flow (M5), the fun kind. A fall outing used to cost a bag of apples. Now the day comes in price tiers, the corn maze costs extra, and the doughnut line, the hayride, the pumpkin patch and the burger barn each want a turn. Each one is small. The day isn’t. Gamerman’s essay isn’t a lecture about any of that, and neither is this. The point is the thing she noticed at the end. The memory that lasted cost nothing, and nobody planned it. The tiers and the add-ons are the farm’s business model, and that’s fair. They just don’t buy the part you’ll remember.
The one thing in your plan this touches is the holiday stretch that starts about now. Outings, gifts, travel and hosting pile up from here to New Year’s. This week, write one number for the whole stretch, and decide which add-ons are worth it before you’re standing in the doughnut line. A budget for fun is still fun. Show us the number at your next review. It’s the umbrella you pack on a sunny morning, and you’re glad it’s in the bag.