Eric had to leave early this morning, so he went down to the kitchen before I did to make his lunch. When I got there he was still working on his sandwich, so I fetched a winesap apple from the bag I got from the orchard Sunday and washed it for him.

“I always think it’s so funny when you do that,” he said, sealing up his lunchmeat container. “Wash fruit.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I demanded, wiping his apple dry. “It has pesticides on it.”

“It does?” he said, straightening up.

“Of course it does! This particular orchard says they don’t use them within four weeks of harvest, which is good, but I still don’t want to feed you poison. And conventionally grown fruit has a lot more and a lot worse.”

“They put it on fruit? Really?”

“Yes, really. There are all kinds of bugs that would ruin fruit crops if they weren’t sprayed.” I put the apple in his lunch bag and held it out for his sandwich. “Don’t laugh at me about washing your food anymore.”

“Okay,” he said contritely. Now I know why I had to yell at him about not washing peaches and strawberries when we made ice cream in the summer.