By this time most years, we have visited the orchard at least twice, spending hours picking apples of every variety. Our first visit, usually in September, brings us galas, empires, jonagolds, and cortlands. We roam the rows looking for the right apples to pick: crisp, bright, stems easily coming off the tree. We look for some lower on the trees so that Zoya can reach them; we look for some higher on the trees which haven’t been as picked over by the crowds. We fill a ten-pound bag (sometimes two), take some photos, and just relish being outside on the...