The Hudson Valley is known for many things: beautiful hikes, sunset-hued fall foliage, quaint historical towns and even us, Vassar College! Very early on in my Vassar career, I decided to make sure to explore all of these scenic trademarks available to me within driving distance. And as I enter my senior year here, I feel an even greater sense of urgency to make sure I have done every single Americana activity the region has to offer. Due to this extreme awareness of passing time and the fact that I had never been apple picking in a part of the country known for its apple orchards—a vintage bumper sticker I got from a yard sale in Kingston poignantly asks, “Where is the Big Apple grown?”—I spent an 80-degree day picking apples at the nearby, famous Dubois Farms & Tavern.
You might be wondering how I managed to spend multiple years here without joining in on any House Team-facilitated trips or procrastinating with my friends at Dubois Farms. The simple answer is: I do not know. Maybe I did not get the emails, maybe my plans never make it out of the numerous combinations of friends in group chats, maybe I have been lazy. But maybe, just maybe, I would like to think the universe was saving the sweet first bite of a crisp Snapdragon apple picked straight from the tree to herald in the fall of my last year at Vassar.
The minute we pulled into the driveway of Dubois Farms to the tune of Noah Kahan live at Fenway Park, I knew I was not the only one feeling the fall spirit. Families and friends were getting out of cars, dressed for a crisp autumn day, minutes away from sweating in the sweltering sun. A little girl was exiting the Dubois Farms, trailing behind her brothers, holding a pumpkin big enough to hide her torso and what I bet was a huge smile. One elderly man, wearing a shirt with “0% Liberal” emblazoned across the front, stood out to me. In the dingy red wagons visitors could use to carry their Dubois Farms produce and products, he had heaped multiple bags of handpicked green apples. Not a single red apple in sight. I wondered if he knew something I did not.
Once we paid $10 per person at the entryway, the kind high schooler manning the tap-to-pay station remained kind as she was swarmed by patrons. She informed us that if we showed our tokens at checkout as proof that we paid $10, it would be taken off our receipt. Essentially, Dubois Farms requires you to spend at least $10 on their various offerings. But speaking from newfound experience, once you try their apples and apple cider, the $10 dollar suddenly seems like an underestimation.
As we followed the unpaved path to where all the hustle and bustle was happening, I quickly realized heeled clogs may have been an impractical choice for the task at hand. After I twisted my left foot the second time, I was about to unfairly make up my mind about apple picking, against it, when I heard an acoustic guitar and blues-y voice crooning out an earthy rendition of Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine.” No camouflaged stones, uneven ground or heels were getting in the way of me enjoying that. My ankles did not ache; I accepted the sweat trickling down my back as a last warm hello from the summer sun and basked in the sights.
While the map tells you where you can find pumpkins, apples, grapes, go on a hay ride, pet some goats and enjoy delicious cider and food at the Tavern, it severely downplays how huge the farms are. A quick Google search led me to the Dubois Farms website, which shares that the entire Dubois Farms is spread out over 69 acres of land filled with fun and food. The same website’s event schedule let me know the live performer who saved the day goes by the name Fred Stelling. The magic of going to the source!
After taking pictures of the goats and being moved to tears by a baby petting a baby goat, we began to pick apples. Since the farm is a popular spot for agritourism in the area, the first few rows of trees were bare, but the trek was calming and had a sweet reward hidden further up the hill. We filled a bag with Empires, Pink Ladies, Snapdragons and Courtlands, sometimes taking bites to make sure we were getting our money’s worth. Once the bag was filled with too many apples for a Terrace Apartment of four college students who stock and consume unlimited amounts of Annie’s Mac & Cheese, we made our way to check out.
Distracted by visions of apple pies, crisps, pop tarts and even browning apple slices reminiscent of our youth soccer days, we let our instincts add a pack of a dozen apple cider donuts and a half gallon of apple juice to our bill. We showed our tokens to some more kind high schoolers and carried our spoils back to the car—so satisfied and excited that the sun was not too hot and my shoes became all-terrain qualified. As we drove back, pressing play where we stopped on Kahan’s live album, I felt like I had lived a little. I touched some grass—quite literally—explored the place I call home, participated in a beloved autumnal tradition and supported a longstanding local family-owned small business. Now, as I eat a slice of still-hot apple pie with vanilla ice cream from Stewart’s melting through the golden brown lattice into the cinnamon-laced apples, I feel very fall and very grateful for still finding new ways to fall in love with this place.