From the corps of Toronto it takes some time to get out into the country. For me, a pedestrian/cyclist, I find that as soon as I get in a car and have to deal with the streetlights, construction crews, traffic congestion, and idiotic self-centered dangerous oblivious drivers that are simply part and parcel of city driving, I become impatient to get out of the car.

The same must be true for anyone commuting to and from work. I mean, you can make the best of a traffic jam, but who in their right mind would enjoy it? At least, who would rather spend their time sitting idle in traffic then doing something (anything) outside the confines of their commuting can?

The way in which one confronts a weekend getaway from the city creates a similar amount of stress and displeasure as the daily commute. Measures are taken to minimize the time one has to spend on the road, like plotting to leave work early; strategicly evaluating which route out of the city should be taken after consulting the latest traffic and weather reports, the advice of friends and coworkers, and the stars; and praying to whatever gods or spirits they choose. But, in Toronto this is an empty ritual, as there is almost a 100% guarantee you will hit traffic regardless. For this reason, a weekend getaway would be better termed an “escape”.

Last weekend my cousin Eric, his friend Abby, and myself borrowed our roommate’s van for day-trip to an apple orchard to pick apples. It was a mini-escape type of venture that took us through the congestion of Saturday afternoon downtown traffic and the sprawl of suburbia before coming into the rolling hills, open farm pastures and fields of the communities to the north-east of the city.

The place we went, Algoma Orchards, was pretty busy, eventhough it was late in the season. The sky was a mix of clear blue, fluffy white clouds, and dark fat-bellied thunderheads, and the nip of winter cold was distinct in the air. Relatively few apples remained on the trees and the sweet, musty smell of rotting apples that had fallen to the ground swirled in the wind that blew through the orchard. The apples which remained on the trees were mostly on the topmost branches, safe from the reach of the children and adults who infest the trees like some kind of biblical plague every weekend.

We sauntered the aisles falling upon any good cluster of fruit that we could see, because at first apples seemed to be scarce. Then, as we made our way into the rows further away from the parking lot, we found trees still full of apples! At this time we were overcome, and in an act of pure opulence and waste, began to take single bites from different kinds of apples to see if we liked them enough to pick more. Upon realizing our frivolousness, we realized that many of the apples already on the ground were victims of the same mentality. We rationalized (a useful method for guilty sinners) that the apples we threw away would become the winter fodder for deer, birds, and other animals, though I don’t think we really knew.

As we walked back to the parking lot, I thought about the simple act of picking apples and how it’s one way that denizens of the city are able to reconnect, if briefly, to the source of their food. It isn’t that the concept of “pick your own” farms is new. However, their continuing popularity says something to me: people are interested in being part of the process that brings food into their homes. A quick search on the Internet reveals a bunch of such places where you can pick everything from pumpkins to peaches. One site offered contact info for farms around the world, www.pickyourown.org. Hell! Some farmers actually CHARGE people for the privilege of coming to do their work! Granted, for many people, perhaps this is simply a novel way to spend an afternoon like going to see a movie; they don’t necessarily learn anything about how orchards work by coming to pick. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t be a big leap for them to ask about it, if they were interested. And, any time you bring children to a new environment different from what used to the city, there is likely to be lots of curiosity about how things work.

I suppose I just find it encouraging to know that people in a monster city like Toronto, are not without means to experience farm life first hand and recognize its importance.