DIANE MAKAR MURPHY Autumn apple-pickin' fun for all -- even teens

Evan James, my son's best friend, hopped out of our car and bounded toward the market entrance at White House Fruit Farm, Youngstown-Salem Road, in Green Township.
He grabbed my hand like a kid going to the circus. "Hurry up! Hurry up!"
OK, so he's 16, and I knew he was kidding.
But he pretty much captured how I felt inside. With both my kids in their teens, I don't get a lot of family fun trips any more. When I do, I'm fairly giddy with delight.
I've come to realize what I think is cool just isn't.
We used to do museums and city parks and grocery shopping, and... oh come on! You get the idea. I was the perfect toddler mommy, but I'm not so hip when it comes to teen-age Hannah and Josh.
"Hey, who wants to go to the library?"
Dead silence.
All aboard: But the suggestion of White House got a better response -- all hands on deck and the promise of a friend or two to boot. The fact that last Saturday was one of the best fall days -- sunny, a little nippy but not cold, leaves barely turning, pumpkins ripe and tomatoes falling off the stems -- didn't hurt. We picked up Josh's friend Kelli, with Evan already in the car, and made for the fields.
The parking lot was crowded as Evan did his happy kid act. I knew it would be. A lot of people recognized perfect fall weather. I had tucked a few dollars into my pocket, determined to say "Yes" once in a while this day. It didn't take long.
"Mom, can I have a caramel apple?" Josh asked. We bought three from the outside stand and Evan, Josh and I bit into the freshest, gooiest, most delicious caramel apples I've ever tasted. Juice ran down my cheek. I didn't care that the paper wrapping wasn't completely off the apple. I ate it -- paper and all.
Still growing: We started for the store's entrance, but I spotted the wooden growth chart we've leaned against for the past seven years. Not so long ago, Josh used only half of the chart.
Now, when he leans against the huge cartoon apples, I read, "6-foot-1." Wow, where did the time go?
"Wait, I have my shoes on." Thank heaven!
"6 foot." Bad enough.
Evan measured 6-foot-2, with 2 inches attributed to his spiked hair. Hannah stepped up next. Five feet tall. "Finally," she said. They encouraged me to measure up, but hey, there's only one way for an adult to go on a growth chart -- down. I passed.
Fresh cider: Josh ran back to the car to snatch dimes from my console. You can get a glass of cider from the barrel against the store's back wall for a dime. Josh, even at 17, was fascinated by the honor system. He commented that he could take cider for free. Then he dropped a dime for each person's cider into the plastic jug on the wall. He's honorable.
Next, we headed to the hayrides, where, for $2 each, I got to relive another bit of my kids' childhoods. We climbed into the wagon and sat knee to hay bale. The Belgian horses started clopping, dragging our huge wagon into the orchards like a Red Flyer. Evan took an apple from a tree, and we jostled happily along.
When the ride was over, we made for the chili and tomato fields, planning to pick our own before we hunted up the corn maze, strolled along the lake and, finally, bought some groceries. We walked along a dirt road through the fields, following signs we hoped led to the makings for a big bowl of salsa.
The road stretched out before us, and I wished it would go on forever with the sun shining gently on my back and the crisp autumn breeze blowing against my cheeks.
"I wonder if this apple is covered in pesticides," Evan said, looking critically at his loot. He polished it on his pants.
"You want a bite?" he offered to each of us. We each accepted.
What a terrific day!
murphy@vindy.com