“Comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.” Song of Solomon 2:5.
There is no way to summarize in words the intrinsic bliss of spending an autumn afternoon picking apples. Wandering the rows of tightly packed, gnarly trees with branches so heavy with pommes that they look like overly decorated Christmas trees, you can’t help but be present. Some orchards are quiet and serene and you can hear the snap of each apple twig as you gently roll and pull it off the branch. Some orchards sing with the laughter of children and the happy conversations of passengers as they ride on tractor pulled wagons around the farm. No matter if you find yourself picking apples alone like it is your own paradise, or have family and friends along for the hunt, the thrill of gathering this most beloved fruit holds a simple pleasure that is lost on most modern day food acquiring processes. It doesn’t hurt that New England orchards are also the apple of everyone’s eye when it comes to apple orchards and Pick Your Own perfection.
The first recording of an apple in North America was in 1623 in Massachusetts. It was a Roxbury Russet, a richly flavored apple with a citrusy flavor and a defining rough, brown skin. Prior to colonists bringing them over from Europe, the North American continent only had Crabapples. The European settlers brought apples to America as a symbol of continuity -a sentimental connection to their homelands. At this time most apples were not used for fresh eating, but for cider making -both fresh and hard. Nearly any apple high in tannins (a naturally occurring compound found in apples and other fruits that adds astringency) will work for cider. Even apples referred to as “spitters” because they were so astringent that they were spit out after one bite could be utilized for the best resulting cider.
Apple cider was more than just a seasonal beverage, it was the main drink for the colonists as it was safer to drink than water and offered nutrients and sugar to an otherwise often sparce diet. In addition to being used for cider, apples were a valuable part of the colonist diet as they could be baked, sauteed, eaten raw, dried, made in to vinegar, and used to feed livestock. Apples became such an integral part of the early American diet that anyone who had even a small garden grew their own apple trees.
Apple varieties were expanded upon and experimented with. For example, you cannot grow a Roxbury Russet from the seeds of a Roxbury Russet. The seeds do not yield true to the parent. Instead, a branch from the Roxbury Russet must be grated onto root stock from another apple tree -one usually selected for a sturdy trunk or being cold hardy. Grafting was perfected by early colonists and the quality of apples available began to expand throughout New England. This means that when you bite into any variety of apple, you are essentially biting into a direct descendant of the original tree that the variety was started on.
There was one person, whoever, that believed grafting an apple tree was unethical and cruel to the tree. He was a Massachusetts born, literate (rare for the time), rugged, social anomaly known for being a naturalist, passivist, Native American supporting, anti-materialist, herbalist, whose spiritual beliefs were based in nature. His name was John Chapman, or as American lore has deemed him, Johnny Appleseed.
Referred to as America’s First Great Walker and a pioneer nurseryman, Chapman traveled from the East Coast to the Midwest carrying apple seeds that he collected from places like the back of Ale Houses where the pulp from cider pressing was discarded. He would sift through the pulp, take and cure the seeds, and then choose about three acres of land before accelerating natural selection by planting the seeds in neat rows and fostering orchard growth for forthcoming settlers.
Chapman also acquired land of his own and sold and gave away thousands of seedlings to pioneers traveling West. It is impossible to know how many orchards or trees he planted in his fifty years of propagating and establishing apple orchards. One thing that is known by his refusal to graft apple trees and only use seeds is that these orchards were planted, not to feed people with fresh fruit, rather to make apple cider to sustain people through harsh Midwest winters. When Chapman passed away in 1845 he owned 1,200 acres of planted land and had established countless orchards that were sold off to and now inhabited by pioneers.
During the 1800’s America began to ship apples to England and the West Indies. They were packed in barrels and transported in rough seas so only the sturdiest and longest lasting varieties (like Roxbury Russets) were used. Apples were shipped mainly from Portland and Boston and soon apples were a notable part of the American trade. As a result America began to expand their little private orchards and the first large scale orchards were opened.
Apple cider remained the king of beverage and hearth until the mid-1800’s when German immigrants brought a new drink with them -one that proved just as popular and quickly displaced cider as the preferred average beverage: Beer. Cider also fell out of favor under the new temperance movement. The Temperance movement gained momentum and alcohol consumption went from a normalized, daily practice and safer alternative to water to a stigmatized, socially unacceptable practice. Early American apple orchards were forced to destroy and burn cider-specific trees and focus entirely on apple production for fresh eating or processing as food.
With the downfall of cider, the apple industry had to remake itself. In 1904 the World’s Fair in St. Louis provided that opportunity. Professor J.T. Stinson, a 20th century fruit specialist, gave an address to the crowd at the fair. Stinson lectured on the health benefits of apples and during this presentation he coined the phrase, “An Apple a Day Keeps the Doctor Away.” This single phrase took hold and sparked a nationwide interest in eating fresh apples for the health benefits. The most popular varieties at the time of the fresh apple movement were Northern Spy, Rhode Island Greening, and Baldwin -all New England varieties.
American continued to grow and enjoy a wide variety of apples until 1933 when a harsh winter killed over a million Baldwin trees. Orchardists and pomologists began to look for a variety that was cold hardy to avoid this agricultural tragedy again. The Mcintosh was discovered and valued for its cold resistance and high yield production. Soon, many other heirloom varieties were lost for more generic, hardy counterparts. In the mid 1830’s there were around 17,000 varieties of apples in North America. Today there are only about 2,500 varieties and only 100 are grown commercially in the United States. It is likely that only five or six kinds can be found at the local supermarket.
Apple orchards continued to find new ways to thrive in an increasingly modern world. In 1970’s there was a lifestyle movement where people wanted to eat food that was local, fresh, and ethically grown. With a return to respecting nature and connecting with food and food sources responsibly and sustainably, a new way of farming was born: Pick Your Own. Orchards such as Jaswell’s Farm in Rhode Island began to offer their goods directly to the consumer -often including things like hayrides, baked pies, and fresh apple cider. Soon apple orchards became not only a place to purchase food, but a place to be a part of the farm and harvest experience.
Today New Englanders are still enjoying the best of what orchards have to offer. Though less than 2% of our nations fresh apples come from New England, it is a well known fact that New England apple orchards set the standard for Pick-Your-Own. New England is also the heart of preservation, education, and propagation for heirloom varieties of apple. If you are looking for the perfect autumn afternoon adventure that will likely result in wandering the rows of fruit-laden trees, a bit of taste testing between varieties, and perhaps even some baked goods cooling on your windowsill, then here is a list of ten of the best ranked apple orchards in New England. Don’t miss the chance between now and the first hard frost to participate in this pastime that is as American as apple pie.
Alyson’s Orchard, New Hampshire
Red Apple Farm, Massachusetts
Lyman Orchards, Connecticut
Shelburn Orchards, Vermont
Applecrest Farm Orchards, New Hampshire
Champlain Orchards, Vermont
Scott Farm, Vermont
Super Chilly Farm, Maine
Sauchuk’s Farm, Massachusetts
Rocky Brook Orchard, Rhode Island

While reading Tasha Tudors Corgiville Fair as a young girl, I was enchanted by the lovely, though fictional, village of Corgiville. In her many children’s books, the New England native author often depicted life and scenes from historic, rural New England. Her artwork and stories were largely based on her own life in Vermont and surrounding New England areas -all rich with forests, farms, gardens, traditions, antique homes, slow living, and a fierce loyalty to their community. The villages Tudor wrote about were nothing short of emotive with little gazebos in the center and dirt roads lined with quaint shops and historic municipal buildings that were the prize of every town.
In addition to the idyllic settings, the characters in these stories were often varied -from upstanding, well put-on figures to mischievous miscreants who loved to stir up trouble. Town meetings were lively events where business was conducted successfully even if there was a bit of hearty debate and turmoil. Still, every character in these New England-based stories had a role and each was accepted for the order or lack thereof they added to their towns. As an impressionable reader growing up in a largely suburban, overdeveloped area where you had to drive to get to any real nature and any of us valley dwellers would have been floored to see so much a squirrel or rabbit in the yard, the world Tudor wrote about and drew hardly seemed real.
Years later, after sheer determination, a little pestering, and pure luck, I found myself with my own family settled in Massachusetts. Nine moves all over the country had resulted in the gift of finally living in the place I dreamed about as a girl. While no place is without problems and less than lovely characteristics can be found anywhere, overall New England exceeded what I had dreamed about for so long.
After a few years in Plymouth a search for pumpkins for the school harvest festival led me to seek out a farm called Sauchuk’s. On a quintessential autumnal afternoon I exited the freeway and suddenly found myself in what looked like the New England countryside I had read about in Tudor’s stories. I was instantly in awe of the towering pines and jewel-colored trees in lush droves along quiet country roads, the cozy antique Cape’s festooned with mums and pumpkins, a little gazebo on a town green that would make any Gilmore Girl’s Fan proud, thoughtfully curated farm stands dotting every street I turned on, and horses grazing in the autumn sun. I had found heaven -or more precisely, Plympton.
After that day I could not get that little town out of my head. When we began to look for a permanent home I had to add Plympton to the areas to search. Of course, anyone who lives here knows that there isn’t usually much available and I rather gave up hope of finding anything in that slice of New England heaven I had visited the year before. After a few months I decided to look one more time and there it was, the perfect place for my family to call home. When we purchased our home, now named Peaceful Pines Farm, we chose it strictly based on the surrounding area and land. What I could not have known or expected was that the townspeople in Plympton are just as special as the nature here.
Before moving in I connected with a few Plympton locals on an Instagram account I started for our farm. They noticed the hashtag “#Plymptonma” and had to “investigate” as one of them told me. Newcomers, even on social media, were noticed. Within months of settling into our home I was asked to be part of a barn dance committee to save at-risk land in our town from development. I was introduced to what I was told was “the belly of the town” in terms of residents who were known for frequently stepping up to offer their time and efforts whenever needed. After living in so many places all over the country I left the first meeting thinking that in all my nation-wide wanderings I had never met a group of people as welcoming and down to earth as the people I met that night.
Our little town was able to not only put together a never to be forgotten barn dance event for the community, but we raised enough money to help preserve the land that would have otherwise been developed. It was the first time I had seen a community rally together in such a way for the greater good of one another and their local environment. It was also the first time I saw what the people of Plympton are capable of. As an outsider and newcomer to the New England area (though I have never been made to feel like an outsider in Plympton) I have made some observations through the years about the many things, big and small, that greatly contrast any other place I have lived, and help Plympton give Tudor’s Corgiville a run for its money in terms of being a place where anyone is lucky to live.
As that first year progressed through the seasons, my family and I got to see Plympton’s magic further unfold. One of the first memorable Plympton events my family and I experienced was a holiday gathering at the gazebo featuring carolers and Mr. and Mrs. Claus followed by hot chocolate and cookies at the First Congregational Church. That same December, a Christmas tree farm in town was mentioned at a gathering with friends and that is how my family started our now annual tree hunting expedition and found that wandering Schatten Berg farm to search for the perfect Christmas tree feels more like exploring an enchanted Bavarian forest than just visiting a farm down the road.
The first winter in a new town could have been predicably isolating, but in Plympton it brought new connections and adventures with fellow townspeople through becoming part of the Plympton Historical Society Board. I was thrilled to learn that Plympton had its own compilation of tales published and available for purchase in two books, Tales of Old Plympton, Volumes I and II, compiled by Eugene A. Wright. Out west, where I grew up, I would have never heard of such a thing. Perhaps people from this area don’t realize that having a recorded collection of tales and events (a little fact mixed with a little amusing fiction) gathered from multiple people who lived in town is a bit of an American annal spanning generations and is a rare treat!
On St. Patrick’s Day, the Plympton Historical Society put on a potluck for the town with Irish dancers performing. The tables had craft paper runners on them and people were encouraged to write down an “Irish Blessing” for someone. When the event was over, the tables were full of wonderful sentiments and well wishes for our town and everyone in it. I was so moved that I took pictures of these sentiments to add to my personal town photo album.
The second year living in Plympton while there was still snow on the ground, I attended my first meeting for the Plympton Garden Club. I was introduced to some of the most inspiring gardeners I had ever met with decades of horticultural wisdom and experience combined. Years later, while starting the Plympton Flower Show, long-time members of the Plympton Garden Club loaned my Flower Show partner and I the old Plympton Flower Show program booklets for reference. We were astonished to see the rich heritage former generations of the Plympton Garden Club left behind. Today the Garden Club is equally stocked with an array of seasoned gardening and horticultural experts as well as people who are new to gardening and eager to learn from the sage wisdom in the group. Most places I lived before did not even have a local garden club so to find one that is such an integral part of the community made me swoon over Plympton all the more.
With warmer weather, spring sports season began for my children. I observed the behind the scenes efforts of a thriving town youth athletics program and was impressed with the dedication and energy voluntarily given by local parents to run the Plympton Athletic Youth Sports organization. Hours of time are freely given by mothers and fathers for practices and games as well as running an adorable Snack Shack (thank you for adding the Venmo for us cash- forgetting parents), picture days, and the much-anticipated Opening Day where all baseball, softball, and Tee-ball players march in uniform through the center of town to Holt Field for their first games and a cookout afterward. While private and competition sports leagues have their appeal, town sports programs like PAYS create a place where local children can feel they belong and are valued in their community as well as reaping the mental and physical benefits that team sports provide.
As a mother of four children, ages 19-8, and two decades of moving I was no stranger to enrolling my children in various schools across the country and seeing how each school coexisted in the community. After a few short weeks I immediately noted that the Dennett volunteer parent group, Community and School Association or CASA, work exceptionally hard to provide plenty of family-friendly events for the children of Plympton to enjoy throughout the year. With traditions like the annual Talent Show, the Harvest Fair, the Halloween Dance, Trunk-or-Treat, Thanksgiving Dinner for lunch, a Holiday Bazaar, and frequent Staff Appreciation Luncheons with meals and dishes donated by parents, CASA is consumed year-round organizing and hosting events that are meant to bring the families in our community together to have fun.
In addition to such town-wide effort to provide fun and enrichment for the families and children of Plympton, I noticed how very altruistic the first responders in our town are in supporting and interacting with the youth of Plympton in addition to excelling in their crucial duties to serve and protect our town. My youngest never missed a Touch-a-Truck event at the Fire Station and it was quite endearing to watch the Fire Department play the Dennett sixth graders in a neck and neck basketball game last winter. Each morning friendly police officers greet the children with high fives, words of encouragement, and sometimes cuddles from an adorable police dog as they enter the building for school each day. They have provided my son (and I’m sure many others) with a morning smile just by being friendly when coming to school.
Another noteworthy distinction for Plympton that I have perhaps more keenly witnessed as someone new to town and used to living in more overdeveloped areas, is the community outreach focus from the local businesses and farms of Plympton. It is encouraging to see how dedicated these entities are to providing not only high-quality services and goods to our town and beyond, but opportunities to gather and learn.
For example, every year our little town buzzes with the happy activity that Mayflower Market Days brings. This beautiful vintage and local goods fair brings people to Plympton from near and far to enjoy food, music, antique house tours, and also the opportunity to support local businesses selling their wares. I personally could not let an autumn pass by without wandering the bucolic open field to sit at a picnic table and listen to local bands while munching on food truck fare, or adding “just one more” vintage botanical print to my collection that hardly needs adding to. Be it community lectures on horse ownership and horse care at South Shore Equine Clinic or attending a 111 Love Yoga class from our resident Yoga instructor, Plympton business owners add a special touch and benefit to our town that the chain stores and strip malls I was used to prior to living here simply cannot.
My family and many of my friends do not live in New England, but in seeing the things I share about our town they have come to be intently curious about and enchanted from afar with Plympton. I am often asked to describe Plympton for them and one thing I always point out is that we are a farming community. The farms of Plympton are one of my favorite things about our town. Not one of the many places I lived had dozens of farms, big and small, in such a small area. I joke that if you need eggs and your local stand is sold out, all you need to do is go one street over and you will find more. The abundance of farm fresh food, easily accessible and offered at very affordable prices, within the boundaries of our town will never cease to amaze me.
In a modern-day society where there are many urban food deserts and fresh, local food is increasingly hard to come by, we are sitting on a gold mine of privilege here in Plympton. To be able to drive eight minutes across town to grab a few ears of Colchester Farm corn, or stop in Sauchuk’s for cider donuts and a box of peaches on the way home, or to take a five minute drive to Sunrise Gardens for annuals and perennials -these are luxuries that I have personally lived most of my life without and, prior to living in Plympton, only read about in magazines, books, or online sources talking about idyllic places to live.
I will never take for granted the memories of my children and I picking blueberries at the local patch or watching in awe as the cranberry bog down the street fills with water and turns crimson with floating red orbs. My family is forever enriched by the many joy-filled October days spent at the one and only Sauchuk’s where all my kids, no matter their age difference, PLAY together for hours on end. I fail every time to lead them successfully through the corn maze but all is forgiven and forgotten as we head out to the fields where hundreds of pumpkins await excited children and adults who step down from the wagons to choose the season’s best.
It is not only enjoyment and sustenance that I see our local farms providing, it is also education. As a rookie flower farmer I could not ask to be in a more supportive and inspiring community. There is no competition between us, only mutual respect, support, and camaraderie between the flower farmers of Plympton. Knowledge is not guarded, rather it is shared. Be it learning to make compost and grow flowers efficiently in a workshop at Just Right Farm or chatting with the Detterman’s about their vast array of seasonal crops, or picking up a roadside bouquet from the lovely Milkweed Meadows flower stand on the way home from school or eagerly planting the unique and well-bred dahlia tubers from Ten Oak Farm, I found a community of flower farmers and experts in Plympton that have freely shared their wisdom and consistently lent their support to my own growing little farm and encouraged me as I fumble through this new venture.
Lastly, I could not go without touching on what drew my family and I to Plympton in the first place: The land. Our local ecosystem is one of the healthiest and most undeveloped in Massachusetts. As someone who has oft lived in concrete jungles and places where the only vegetation left was the lawn in a parking strip of a mini mall, I cannot stress enough what a gift it is to live in Plympton’s environment. After over three centuries of being a town, Plympton remains largely untouched. Surveys given to our town residents by the Open Space Committee indicate that keeping our local ecosystems as pristine as possible is the top priority for most of the residents here. With our town relying on aquifers and wells for our water supply it makes smart sense to be concerned with the local environment, but the devotion to conservation and preservation goes deeper than the logistics of our water supply.
There is an underlying adoration by the people of Plympton for town lands and resources. Take a hike in stunning Cato’s Ridge and read the names of dozens of Plympton residents and families on the boardwalk who contributed time and money to preserving the land there. Ask a number of Plympton farmers about the local trees their farms are named after. Scan the town Facebook page where there are almost daily images shared of local wildlife -all met with comments of enthusiastic pride that we share our home with such amazing animals and creatures. Attend in person or watch the hours of meetings via televised footage that volunteers for groups like the Conservation Commission and Open Space Committee spend trying to enforce, draft, and preserve legislation to protect our local environment in the face of seemingly endless threats of development and land grabbing that could be detrimental to our natural resources.
I could go on for pages more about the merits of Plympton -this little unassuming gem of a place nestled in the New England forests that is filled with some of the hardest working, most talented, and generous people around. Instead, I invite all of you -Plympton residents or not, to reflect on the things that make your community unique. I could have moved to town and done as I had done nine times before -kept to myself and been friendly, but never really bother to get involved. When I drove through town that fateful autumn day, however, I just knew I was somewhere special -and for the first time, I am ashamed to say, I stepped outside of myself and my little world and started to learn about and work with the people around me.
I realized the utopic aspects of Plympton where not brought about through any measure of perfection, or by everyone always getting along and agreeing, or by an endless town budget, or by ease and everyone keeping to themselves. The best things in Plympton exist and are protected because of the people here. Plympton is not perfect, but it is made pretty darn near in comparison to many other places in the world because its imperfect residents love their community enough to work through issues that inevitably arise when running and inhabiting a town.
Plympton needs everyone in town to invest -to care, to offer their individuality. We need the long-time residents who were at the first Garden Club meetings, the new families with small children who just signed up for Tee-ball through PAYS, the single residents who are able to dedicate skills, time, and consistency that perhaps others can’t, and the teenagers who keep KKaties Express busy and play ice hockey on Bonney Pond in the winter. From our local astronomer to wood workers, from authors to chefs, and from farmers to female business owners, there is a place for everyone in our town and we sure do need you. Plympton would not be Plympton without US.
Take it from a few of our historic town heroes, Deborah Sampson, Samuel C. Wright, and Cato Freeman -no matter how inconsequential you think you may be, your choices and your voice are needed and absolutely make an impact for better or worse. Our town is what we make it but we have to show up. We need to root all of our differences in mutual respect and with a common ultimate goal for the best interest of this amazing little town. I have seen many times what happens when the small-town values and focus are lost -it is not hard to see it for yourself even in New England as towns like Plympton grow increasingly rare.
Decades from now I hope my children can take the exit off the freeway and still find the same instant transportation from the bustling modern society to the softer way of life in the Plympton countryside. I hope they find that there are fresh ears of corn waiting at the farm stands, that there is another lively town gathering at the gazebo on the town green, and that you still have to drive slowly and often wait for turkeys, chickens, deer, and horses to clear the road. My “Irish Blessing” for our town: “May the residents of Plympton be worthy authors of our towns story. May we continue to write new tales -ones that honor the past and ensure a peaceful future.”