On Sunday, a friend picked us up and we all drove to a little village called Cöthen, 1 hour northeast of Berlin. It was the first time we got out of the big city after our move. We drove down windy alleys, sheltered by fall-colored trees.
We looked at an old farm house in Cöthen, which was surrounded by an overgrown orchard; some trees still carried small, ruby-red apples on their gnarly branches; we picked hand fulls for the horse and ourselves (and today, they are going into my apple bread from this recipe).
Behind the old farm house was a beautiful mint-colored church built by Karl Friedrich Schinkel; although the sign read "Offene Kirche", the doors were closed.
Oh, these forgotten places are to be prized. The sturdy knarled apple tree peeking through the broken window made me smile.
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