Rappahannock Ramblin'

October 2, 2013 - Rappahannock Ramblin’

With a cloudless blue sky and a forecast for temperatures in the low 70s, we set off last Sunday morning for Rappahannock County, a bucolic destination just an hour or so from home.  As soon as we drove past the town of Warrenton, veering off Route 29 (Lee Highway) onto Route 211 (also known as Lee Highway), wide vistas opened before us – green dappled slopes, blue-tinged hills in the distance, horses peering over fences, even the occasional tree already sporting flame-colored leaves.  Although it was the weekend of the Rappahannock County Farm Festival, few other cars were on the road.  While I drove, Elliott, with the help of his magnifying glass, studied the map, which showed the location of participating farms, wineries, and orchards that were welcoming visitors.  We passed several farm stands selling corn, pumpkins, and cider, but didn’t stop until we reached Lee’s Orchards.  I’d somehow managed to live over six decades without ever picking apples, and this was my chance to remedy that deprivation.  

We drove off the road onto a long gravel driveway, parked outside a barn, and faced an unanticipated decision: which size basket?  A bushel, a half-bushel, a peck (which I learned is one quarter of a bushel), or a gallon?  We chose a peck.  The orchard itself was just down another short stretch of gravel road.  Two lazy cows barely lifted their heads in greeting as we pushed open the rusty gate to the orchard.  We were surrounded by row upon row of apple trees.  The ground was littered with fallen apples, easy to pick up, but choicer specimens were hanging from the branches of the trees.  Then we spotted a ladder leaning against a tree trunk.  Within a matter of minutes, we filled up our basket, and Elliott earned the title of World’s Oldest Apple Picker.  Back at the barn, we added a couple of containers of cider to our bountiful harvest. 

 

All this apple picking made me work up a mighty appetite, so we drove a short distance to the little town of Washington in search of lunch.  Washington, Virginia is the home of one of the country’s finest (and most expensive) restaurants, The Inn at Little Washington.  However, they only serve dinner, and I honestly don’t think that any meal is worth the exorbitant amount of money they charge.  We found a little café, Tula’s off Main, to be a perfectly acceptable substitute.  Judging from the number of locals enjoying their lunch, it was a good choice.  Elliott dug right into the chocolate chip pancakes, and I found several healthy veggie-based options.  With fully sated bellies and lungs filled with fresh country air, we headed back in the direction of Fairfax.