So I piled them in one of my new vintage baskets and in no time flat, I had a new centerpiece. I felt brilliant. I felt creative. I felt very Country Living.
I started noticing how the wire of the basket matched the wire on my chandelier...and how that matched the wire on my lanterns. Oh, I was feeling really full of my own magnificence now. So coordinated was I that I could hardly stand the coolness.
Until suddenly, I awoke to one small flaw. My really cool centerpiece, full of not-quite-ripe apples, was irresistible to my two-year-old boy. And because I knew that we wouldn't be eating them, I hadn't washed those beautiful apples. Thus they were still possibly covered in pesticide. And spotted with insect holes here and there (those were undoubtedly the ones my children had "helped" me pick--right off the ground, probably). Basically, they were food, but food that shouldn't be consumed. But a two year old doesn't know that. He just sees a huge basket of summer's bounty, finally placed within his reach. And he thinks "Yay Mama! You're so smart!"
So after two or three times of catching him with a small sliver of apple core, I gave up and removed them from their adorable place on the table. Sure, I could just wash all ten or fifteen pounds of them. But the insect holes would still be there. And two year olds don't know how to check for insect holes.
I am happy to report that my two year old is still healthy, with no apparent signs of poison.
I am sad to report that I haven't found any local place that is selling pumpkins yet. And that even when I do, a pumpkin probably won't look quite as cute in my basket as the apples did.
It's a hard knock life. mock dramatic sigh