After Apple Picking

I still have some "Thanksgiving leftovers" and here is another one. This is an apple orchard outside Rochester. I drove by a number of them while up there last week There is something in the way they prune the trees so that the branches are not too far above the ground, so they can be reached without climbing tall ladders. The trees look kind of old and stooped over. To see an entire orchard of the trees was amazing to me, so finally I stopped and went into one of the orchards and looked for an interesting composition. The title of this post is based on a Robert Frost poem of the same name. Hey, I grew up in New England, so of course he speaks to me with his poetry.