The last time I experienced autumn in America I was eight. The trees were a delight of colours: copper, burgundy, gold, amber, apricot and coral. Just before the days turned too crisp, we went autumn tree spotting, and apple picking, and pumpkin buying.
I remember the apple orchard well. It was endless. Ladders lent up against the odd tree, and the others, the others you had to scramble up yourself to get to the juiciest apples. Lines and lines of green trees overflowed with apples, and armed with a few baskets we delighted in the job of taking a good stock home. Then there were pumpkins to choose. It really was like living in a movie – mostly because all the edges are blurred on these memories, but even more because it was something so completely different and foreign from back home. The landscapes, the people, the accents, everything was a world away from my little world in South Africa. It was a treat.