An apple. A day.

There's a special place in my heart for Brookfield Orchards. 

It is a place that in memories always had a clear blue sky overhead and hot apple dumplings waiting to be consumed, where the air always smelled sweet of fruit and cinnamon. Where, as I child, I'd go with my cousins and friends to play on the swings and the massive spinning wheel. Where we'd buy penny candy, candy apples, and sometimes picnic with parents. Where, as a teenager, I could escape the pressures of high school. Where I could troll around the used book section of the orchard store, fill my shelves with 25-cent paperbacks, and let my mind wander from SATs and calculus and college applications. 

It is a place of memories. Of fond, and sometimes profound memories. 

It served as the backdrop for my wedding, the greatest memory of my life. My wife and I exchanged vows in one of the front fields, surrounded by family and engulfed in the apple blossoms of springtime. Blue hung above our heads that day, and the air was as perfect as one could breathe. 

Yes, the orchard holds a special place. 

So, when my friend Mark told me that the orchard and the local Lions Club was hosting a 5-mile charity run for diabetes research, I knew I had to make the drive.

I rolled out of bed on Saturday morning, splashed some water on my face, tamed my cowlick, drank a glass of water, and got in the car. 75 minutes later, I was at the fountainhead. I signed in, paid my entry fee, and, with an hour to go before the start, stepped into the general store. 

Before long, I was stuffing a bag full of penny candy. Well, penny doesn't really apply anymore. More like dime and nickel candy. But I was happy to pay to get my Squirrel Nuts and Bulls-eyes and Banana Splits. No Mary Janes, though, which was a bit of a letdown.

Mark arrived as I was paying for my bag of sugar and a 1/2 peck of macintosh at the front of the store. I loaded my treats into the car. We sat and chatted for a few minutes, got up and stretched. And, it was then that I realized that this was the first time I had been to the orchard with Mark since my wedding day, when he served as my best man. It made me feel very sentimental for a moment.

But, time was getting closer. 

We watched as the folks choosing to walk the event lined up and left at 9:30. Then, at 9:55, we took our places at the starting line. A few words from a local politician later, we were off.

We passed fields, Lake Lashaway, orchards. The group participating was small enough that, after a mile or two, you were pretty much on your own to enjoy the quiet, cool New England morning. The roads were rough and disheveled. The volunteers were huddled at turning points, handing out water and words of encouragement. The sounds were of nature and breathing, the pat-pat of sneakers. No cars, no traffic. No sirens. No alarms. 

It was small town. It felt small town. There was a community among us. 

Having run the Hartford Half Marathon the previous weekend, it was a nice change of pace. 

Mark ended up coming in 3rd, which netted him a cool $50. I, on the other hand, scored quite possible the biggest jersey blanket in the world for coming in first in my age group (20-29, which I just squeaked into). Of course, I was the ONLY person in my age group, so that helped my chances. 

Here's a picture of me completely wrapped in the blanket:

After the awards were handed out, I got back into the car. I pulled away from the orchard around 11:30. The sun was out. The breeze was up. 

It was another memory of the place to file away. 

"Thanks for coming! Hope to see you next year," one of the organizers said to me as I was leaving.

Something tells me her hope will come true. I can't stay away from this place.