If you hope to accomplish certain things, inevitably something goes at least slightly awry. Flexibility is important when making plans because otherwise you end up disappointed. (This is a lesson I sometimes have trouble with, particularly when the plans involve friends.)

As you might recall from my last entry, this weekend I had planned to join fellow alumni from the local area in picking apples. I went to the farm’s website to find directions and was surprised to see that they only had pumpkin and raspberry picking listed. No matter, I thought. They probably have a few trees set aside for special occasions. And I’ll bring a container for the raspberries.

Well, there were no apples to be picked. (In fact, even the apples in the little market had been imported from Pennsylvania and New York and Vermont, I overheard a worker say.) And I never managed to find where we were supposed to check in to join the alumni, although I did see some folks from Colby up in the pumpkin patch. The line to weigh and check out the pumpkins was about half an hour long, so I opted to forego selecting a pumpkin and will have to procure one sometime over the next two weeks — perhaps at one of the local farmers’ markets.

But because I had a container, I picked about a quart of lovely, deep ruby red raspberries where there were no crowds and the only competition I had for the berries were from the buzzing bees. The day was gorgeously blue, and although there was no colors in the surrounding Maryland hills, the flower garden was lovely and I cut a bouquet of flowers to bring home. I also procured some plum jam and some pumpkin butter — both of which I look forward to slathering on homemade bread.

Saturday night we fêted our friend Susan’s 40th birthday. It was a family-style restaurant and a large crowd, and we ordered quite a bit too much food, but it was still fun. Several of us headed to a local French restaurant afterwards for midnight drinks, but everyone was tired and we soon parted ways to head home. (I must remember to stop going to French restaurants with my Dean friends. They (by and large) are not dessert people and I have now been to a French restaurant with them twice without having dessert. Instead, I think I’m only going to go to French restaurants with my work friends, who appreciate dessert more than anyone else in D.C.)

Today my allergies seemed to kick in full force and I felt so groggy that I returned to bed while Rudi was getting ready for the farmers’ market. Eventually he roused me and shoved me out the door, and we were able to pick up a bunch of apples for a crisp and soup and a salad, carrots, and some late-season tomatoes before the bell tolled the end of sales. We acquired some other tasty morsels, but for us we had a rather restrained market.

This afternoon, we stopped by the local charity bookshop so I could pick up a couple mysteries for my travels, headed by the garden to pick a few hot peppers and tomatillos, and then went out for tea. At Rudi’s suggestion, we walked along the canal down to Georgetown to an Austrian restaurant and had appetizers, drinks, and desserts. (Okay, the appetizers were an impulse thing once we saw the menu.) Usually the restaurant is packed, but this evening, there were vacant tables and we were able to sit outside next to the fountain and bask in the early evening air. Rudi had a cold mint-pea soup with his half-liter of beer, while I had tea and crostini topped with cheese, peas, and fava beans. Rudi concluded his meal with a pistachio mousse-strawberry concoction, while I opted for the almond-raspberry torte (seeing as how raspberries are in season). Everything was delicious and we window-shopped our way back down M Street and then crossed Rose Park amidst the growing shadows of the night.

Nothing went totally according to plan, but in general it really was a nice weekend.