Not Your Grandma’s Apple Butter

Apples always equate autumn to me.  Growing up in Georgia, every fall saw us traipsing off to the North Georgia mountains for apple picking, apple festivals, apple anything.  Roadside stands littered the drive with handmade signs announcing an array of apple delights.

For me, everything paled in comparison to the huge apple orchards that opened to the public for U-pick excursions.  These operations usually offered a wide variety of activities for kids and adults including hay rides, bounce houses, apple bobbing, apple contests, petting zoos, etc.  There was always a little store overflowing with apple bread, apple pies, apple fritters, fresh apple cider, and of course, already picked bushels and baskets of apples for those who would rather not wander the orchards.

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