To what extent is Fall Break actually a break? Sure, there are no classes Monday and Tuesday, but to what extent does the world around us pause, if even for a moment? The economic uncertainty did not cease, the presidential hopefuls continued to campaign, and for many, more prelims were around the corner. Nonetheless, I doubt anyone was complaining, and any day in which I can sleep past 9:00 a.m. is a nice digression from the norm.

The question then becomes, how do I spend my “fall break?” For some, staying out late, passing out, and subsequently waking up late does the trick. Fortunately, I have the ability to travel home. Naturally, I saw no better way to recoup from the stress of college than to visit my semi-dysfunctional family. Nothing beats home cooking, and it is nice to not wear flip-flops in the shower — the finer things in life. After spending Thursday repenting for my sins, Friday and Saturday lounging around, and Sunday watching football, it was decided that Monday would be a “family day,”

Acknowledging that on such a beautiful day it would be a shame to be confined in a mall or movie theater (yes people on Long Island do other things than shop), my family decided to explore our outdoor options. In what came as somewhat of a surprise, my mother suggested apple picking. Immediate childhood memories arose, and the thought of apples, apple pie, apple cider, and every other variation of the forbidden fruit was enough to stimulate my excitement. After the expected moans and groans from my brother and a quick lunch, we packed into the car and were on our way.

Lengthy car rides provide essential opportunities to study, which inevitably turn into sleeping. After a combination of the two, I was awoken to the bumper to bumper traffic that epitomizes eastern Long Island. Nevertheless, we eventually reached our destination of sorts. There is no excitement in precise planning and true life is lived in the unknown. So without a specific apple farm in mind, we slowly drove from market stand to market stand, farm to farm, until a horrific realization was made: the apple picking season had ended. A nice elderly woman wearing overalls and a bandana informed us that most farms had culminated their pick your own apple services a mere two days ago. The two days were in actuality insignificant, as she informed us that what would have been left were just “slim pickings” anyway, a rare yet literal use of the saying.

What then ensued was to be expected — more groans of dissatisfaction from my brother and some cries of disbelief from my mother. My rational father, however, reminded us that the point of the day was to spend quality time together, not pick fruit from a tree. I guess he was right. We then proceeded to visit other farms, outdoor markets, and a few quant local shops. We ate fresh roasted corn, tried homemade apple cider, and even bought a few pumpkins. Overall, it was a lovely day, and I actually enjoyed bonding with my family much more than anticipated. However, there was a part of me that could not help thinking philosophically of the entire ordeal.

Not surprisingly, the majority of people we encountered on our day trip were either young parents with giddy children or older individuals enjoying retirement. There was a direct contrast between the crowd at the pumpkin patches — young children and adolescents preparing for Halloween, and the crowd at the wineries — older couples basking in the tunes of Billy Joel.

I could not help the swelling of mixed emotions that was a direct response to my environment. Although it had been a few years, my day reinforced how truly dethatched I had become from my childhood. After around eight years, the attempt by my family to relive our apple picking experience essentially came too late. On the other hand, I felt equally dethatched from the scene at the winery. Though the atmosphere was pleasant, it was void of that lively juvenility. I found myself somewhere in the middle, clinging to all that was reminiscent, yet imagining what lie ahead. Why did I feel so disoriented? I knew that my bonds with childhood should have been much stronger than they were.

It is too often that we get overwhelmed in the post adolescent world. Whether it is studying, working, or just the daily grind, somehow our bonds of childhood and family mysteriously slip away as we age. How often do we take a “break” from our day to day activities, and when we do, what does that break actually comprise of — watching TV, partying, sleeping? I was fortunate, by what may have been chance — in an unplanned act, I was reconnected with my childhood and simultaneously connected with my family. Although we may have missed the apple picking, by no means was our trip “too late.” Sometimes it is nice to take a break, and attempt to revisit our childhood, if even for a day; seldom do we realize how longs it has been.

Shaun Werbelow is a sophomore in the School of Industrial and Labor Relations. He can be reached at swerbelow@cornellsun.com. Second Opinion appears alternate Wednesdays.