One of the early birds, Honeycrisp, the finest eating apple of the crop, was almost finished picking, owner Brian Smith said, though there would be plenty at the orchard's farm stand through November, maybe beyond.

It had company in the weathered, wooden crates lined up beside the cider mill - Galas and mild Empires with their frosty blush, and Cortlands, the first-press flavors in Solebury's extraordinary October cider, a bright blend of tangy, sweet and tart; autumn caught in a jug.

In quick succession, others were ripening. Applesaucy Melrose had about a week of hang time left. Jona Gold was coming on. Old-school Stayman Winesap wasn't far behind.

Some of the apples - a new variety called Topaz, for one - were poking from trees that weren't much more than saplings; skinny things, relying on trellises to give them spine.

Others were more substantial, the fruit hanging from limbs the size of a man's forearm. But everywhere across the 40 acres of apples, the fruit shone round-red, polka-dotting the green.

Beneath most of the trees - the result of weather and over-enthusiastic pick-your-own pickers - were dappled puddles of fruit. A softer, yellow-fleshed variety called Pinata was coming along. But up and down all the rows it seemed like apple pinatas had been whacked.

Two types Smith doesn't grow: No Red Delicious. No McIntosh. He doesn't think the flavor is there, and besides, McIntosh fares better, in his opinion, in the chillier climes of New England. (That's why he stopped with my sentimental favorite, the Macoun, which has the perfect baseball size, crunchy snap and sweet-tartness for eating. But don't get me started.)

By November, with the season fading, the orchard will be picking the Keepsake, its sweetness compared in some accounts to sugar cane, and its keeping qualities renowned.

But it is the red-gold Honeycrisp that lights up Smith's features. Its skin is tight and thin, not elastic like the Delicious'. Each bite pops off smartly, crisp as a water chestnut, wet as watermelon. And as sweet! It is best good and cool, its inner cider squirting at first chew.

Solebury has other things going for it. It has 10 acres of summertime peaches. Five acres of blueberries. And an acre each of blackberries, pears and apricots. But its two fields of apples are its pride and joy - and meal ticket.

There is the orchard-harvest now, and the self-picking. And in one of the sprawling, tin-roofed barns there's the cider-pressing. Each week, 4,000 gallons emerge, headed for the orchard's own store and local farmstands from Wrightstown to Buckingham. Later in the season comes the apple butter, plum-dark and intense, a far cry from the watery weak sisters you may have had. And finally, the quart bottles of pink applesauce that the regulars often buy by the case.

Still, in every family there's a favorite, and clearly Honeycrisp is filling that role here: "Look at that," Smith said fondly, waving a leathery hand at the lined-up crates: "Even the yellowjackets prefer the Honeycrisp."

The congregants of the nearby Carversville Christian Church recently bought 10 bushels of them to make applesauce for their famed oyster and pork dinner ( from 3 to 8 p.m. Saturday, www.carversvilleucc.org, 215-297-5166).

They won't need to add any sugar, Smith said proudly. Then a dark thought crossed his face: "I hope they don't put in cinnamon!"

When the apple of your eye is rendered so artfully by nature - a touch acidic, full of sweet notes of honey, as juicy as an apple gets - it is difficult to think of it being tampered with, even by as innocent a spice as cinnamon.

It was only later that I would learn it was the product of tampering itself - a cross in 1960 between the Honeygold, and my old flame, that crisp, fragrant, petite beauty, the Macoun.

Solebury Orchards

3325 Creamery Rd.

New Hope, Pa.

215-297-8079

www.soleburyorchards.com