Apple’s business model

Spoiler alert: I perhaps should warn my readers that they may be mistaken about the scope of this article. I do not aim to write about what they may think is the best business in the United States, but about what truly is the best business of the United States, which not only inspired what readers do consider is the best business but also which transformed a fruit-averse woman into a genuine fan, who easily succumbs to the temptation of eating two apples on her 15-minute walk home from the grocery store, something she previously only did with warm bread.

The business of New England is apples. Real apples—vividly red, distinct from the dry, bland ones I’ve tasted across Europe. These apples are exceptionally fresh, deeply flavorful, and so juicy that trying to eat one while reading a book is impossible lest we get fully sugar-sticky pages.

While the apples themselves deserve credit, Americans really made the best of them. Numerous apple orchards across the region open their gates for the wildly popular activity of apple picking. It’s a full-blown seasonal craze—everyone has plans to visit a farm at this time of year. Even Harvard Law School organized an expedition for it. The first challenge is deciding where to go since each orchard promises a more exciting program than the other, offering everything from live music and cider tastings to corn mazes and pumpkin-carving workshops. One farm is even famous for planting its apple trees in a labyrinthine layout known as the “bush maze,” where visitors can wander endlessly.

When we arrive, we are surprised by an ATM awkwardly stationed in an open field, and a shop packed with apples, apple donuts, and oversized plastic jugs of apple cider (non-alcoholic here). Nearby, we spot a school bus in the parking lot, having dropped off kids who are busy building scarecrows and racing in sacks.

At the entrance, there’s a counter where we can buy bags for collecting apples. Afterwards, we wait for a tractor (which we naturally have to pay for) to transport us through the orchards to designated spots. Once dropped off, we are free to roam without supervision or time limits along the endless rows of apple trees. Each row grows a specific variety—such as the McIntosh—and makes a couple of ladders available to help us reach the fruit. The red apples have a stunning, slightly pinkish-reddish hue with ochre undertones, providing photos with a natural Mayfair-esque Instagram filter. The young tractor drivers, looking like they are on a summer camp duty, frequently stop to chat and laugh with one another, radiating good cheer.

At the supermarket, apples are sold in durable, transparent bags with handles, reminiscent of the ones given for apple picking—a constant reminder of the orchards they came from and an invitation to return. Each bag, holding about 15 small green apples, is sturdy enough to work as a bowl and so transparent that we never lose sight of its contents.

And so, dear readers, the farm owners achieve what would otherwise be unthinkable: to ability to get paid to have others pick their own fruit and to bring the apples directly to consumers. Visitors gladly pay for the privilege of traveling to remote orchards, climbing ladders, and hauling their apple-filled bags back to their cars.

I would suggest that we adopted this model in Portugal, but I hesitate, unsure of how a more lucid portuguese would react to being asked to cover the cost of driving such a long distance, climb a ladder, pay an entrance fee, purchase a bag for apples, cherries, or figs, carry the bag to the car, and head home. If undeterred by this scenario, confident in the generosity of the Portuguese spirit, I encourage you to implement this slice of the American dream on Portuguese soil—and let me know how it goes.

P.S. Did you know Steve Jobs got the idea to name his company Apple after visiting one of these orchards?