Savoring the Season at a Fly-In Apple Orchard

Every January or February, my dad—who lives in San Diego—texts me a photo or video of one of his walks on a picturesque beach awash in golden sunlight, leaving footprints in the sand behind him as he strolls around on a random weekday. These messages are typically accompanied by a chipper description of the temperature and extended forecast.

He’s well aware I live in Wisconsin. And having grown up in Detroit, he’s keenly aware of the reality that I am, at that very moment, coping with things like frozen car locks, downed power lines, and air so cold it’s painful to breathe. But despite his idyllic climate and well-timed ribbing, he’ll readily admit that he does, in fact, miss having varied and well-defined seasons where he lives now.

As an airplane owner, perpetually either limited by the bad weather or reveling in the good, it’s easy to see why. Cancellations spark planning and create anticipation for better days. And when those days arrive, we savor the opportunity to enjoy them from our perches aloft.   

In my first few years as an airplane owner, I’ve found that each season here in the Midwest tends to become perfectly embodied by its own uniquely definitive flying experience. One that stands out as a quintessential taste of everything that season has to offer. One we envision and look forward to throughout the rest of the year.

This year, autumn isn’t holding back any punches. Pleasantly warm afternoons have been bookended by clear skies and chilly twilights. Flying low with open windows or with no doors at all fills the cabin with the aromas of freshly cut hayfields and earthy wood smoke, making even short hops memorable. 

Last weekend, I celebrated autumn properly. I flew out to an apple orchard with its own airstrip and picked up a load of Honeycrisp apples, fresh cider, and hour-old apple cider donuts. It was part of a grassroots fly-in organized by EAA Chapter 838, based in Racine, Wisconsin. It's not my local chapter, but I didn’t think the folks would mind my tagging along.

The destination was the Orchard Landing Apple Farm in Hanover, Illinois. Situated on a peaceful hilltop with a view of the Mississippi River in the distance, the land is also home to the family’s private airport with a 2,900-foot-long grass runway. The runway is as smooth as a pool table, and if friendliness were an Olympic sport, the owners, Nathan and Karen Greiner, would definitely medal. 

Around 20 airplanes showed up throughout the morning, and most visitors stuck around to enjoy the food truck and band that arrived around lunchtime. Ample seating was available, including some comfy Adirondack chairs circled around fire pits. The Greiners even allowed a nice family to park their small travel trailer on the farm for the weekend to enjoy the laid-back festivities. The single tragedy of the weekend was that I forgot to bring airplane stickers for the kids. 

As it turns out, fly-in apple orchards exist in several places around the Great Lakes.

On the other side of the lake in central Michigan, Uncle John’s cider mill provides a nice uncharted grass strip to their customers. Unlike the peaceful tranquility of Orchard Landing, the atmosphere is one of bustling family festivities. With so many nonaviation visitors, pilots recommend bringing a friend to guard the airplane to protect it from ham-fisted admirers and children who might attempt to swing from pitot tubes. 

The orchard airstrip I most want to fly into is also the most daunting—and not open to the public. Located a short distance from Madison, Wisconsin, the 1,200-foot grass strip has a 2.9 percent grade with tall trees and rising terrain on one end. Unless you’re a seasoned STOL competitor with a capable airplane, it’s a one-way-in, one-way-out strip—and even then, it’s a challenge.

As a pilot who works with mediocrity as other artists work with clays or oils, I’ve only visited that strip as a passenger, with a vastly more skilled individual at the controls. But I’m practicing regularly and am slowly progressing to a point where I think I’ll be able to visit safely. 

For now, I’m savoring the season, making every day count, and not taking airplane ownership for granted for one second.

Cooler air brings pleasant temperatures and better aircraft performance to the days while crackling bonfires and the magnificent aurora borealis bring warmth and magic to the nights. Mosquito season has finally come to an end. Most importantly, I’m making a point to snap photos and capture the moments so that I can effectively strike back when the inevitable boasting arrives from San Diego in January. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just send my dad some screen captures of real estate listings here in Wisconsin.