On the Tuesday after our church wedding, we began the first round of the Pink Lady harvest on our plot of land. It was possibly around two degrees and I had to encase my body within six layers of clothes, not including my jacket; and two pairs of socks and gum boots, and of course, gloves. The ground was still wet from the rain the evening before. It's important now that you don't picture a conventional apple orchard, the kind you encounter in Himachal Pradesh or Kashmir. In South Tyrol, apple trees are farmed in a high-intensity manner. The plots of land are smaller, and the trees are planted adjacent to each other in parallel rows. Our plot of land has about 1,500 trees under hail nets, with two rows of Granny Smith, the rest Pink Lady, both of which are a joy to harvest for different reasons. Because Granny Smith are green, you generally harvest them in one go. But Pink Lady is widely considered the Champagne of apples. Literally, you cannot use the name interchangeably for another other kind of apple. It is patented. It commands a market value higher than most other kinds of apples. When you harvest Pink Lady, you are required by the co-operative to be highly attentive to the colour. You must be continually mindful, even as you journey into your thoughts as you fall into a work rhythm.

When Bastian's aunt, Maridl arrived on the morning of our first round of harvest, she told me this apple variety is also referred to as Paradise Apple. As we set about plucking, I thought, "how lucky for any apple to be harvested by her hands". Mostly, because I idolise her. I think she is one of few people I've met the world over who has a uniquely harmonious relationship with the human and more-than-human world. Because I'd spend the two weeks before intensely proofreading, I was grateful to be outdoors, in the company of the rising sun. Later that afternoon, Maridl brought an Apricot cake and lemon tea. It felt like a picnic. At the end of the day my body wasn't overly fatigued. I continued to have a spring in my step.