Every fall as the leaves begin to change colors, I’m overwhelmed with a wave of nostalgia for my New England childhood. As the summer days began to cool and turn into fall, we kids would pick out the most colorful leaves to iron into waxed paper and pick out pumpkins to carve. Several times each fall we would go to the old fashioned Cider Mill near our house. There, we could watch ripe apples run into a large funnel-shaped bin to be crushed into fresh, tart cider.
Beyond the apples, pumpkins, and colorful ears of corn, the Cider Mill also sold pots of chrysanthemums–the last man standing in the world of flowers. These “mums” remained bright and full of blooms and ready to sit on the doorstep until the first hard freeze.
