Autumn and apple barns are synonymous to me. There's nothing like the smell of an apple barn filled with baskets of fresh, crisp apples. My mother bought 4 1/2 bushels every autumn (the amount never varied). Some were stored in bins in our storm cellar for winter treats, and the rest were peeled, sliced, and cooked with sugar and cinnamon, and canned, the jars added to the shelves in the storm cellar where she proudly displayed rows of canned bounty from her garden. Memories are gossamer things, hidden in the shadows of our mind and brought back by certain sights and scents. So it is that autumn and apple barns bring back pleasant memories for me. Thanks for visiting here, my friends. My wee apple gatherers are compliments of Jesse Wilcox Smith.