I picked the first apple from the north orchard this morning.
I had been watching it for several days. Not the largest one, and not the reddest. This one simply looked ready.
It fell free with a slight turn of my wrist.
I wiped it against my shirt and ate it against the terrace wall. The shade is longer there this time of year.
The apple was a little tart near the skin. Sweet enough toward the center.
That means the others can wait. Another week is plenty.
There is no reason to hurry an orchard.