We have a massive bramley apple tree in our garden. This year it is loaded with hundreds and hundreds of apples. We’ve eaten about twenty. The rest fall to the ground where I pick them up, throw them into a wheelbarrow and shovel them into the compost bins.
The compost bins are full now. This afternoon I started filling a metric tonne dumpy bag. It’s tedious, stinky work. I was at it for an hour at least. As I picked up, more apples were falling from the tree. One fell on my head. Another fell on my back.
Today did not turn out quite as I had planned, and at the risk of sounding maudlin, being hit by bramley apples was almost the highpoint. The low point was an unexpected journey to our local centre of law enforcement, uncertain what I was about to walk into.
My personal dumpy bag is full right now and still the relentless shovelling continues. Working outdoors and breathing the thick autumn air is the best way I know of coping, especially as the season changes and I find myself less parent and more appropriate adult.