BATLOW DAWN
Out in the middle of a paddock — ringed by hills, grass brushing at its base — it stands: Batlow’s Big Apple. Bold, red, and beautifully out of place, yet so completely at home. A symbol of everything the town stands for — resilience, harvest, and deep-rooted pride.
I photographed it at golden hour, when the light softened and the hills behind it took on that warm, rolling glow. The apple caught the light like a beacon — not just a roadside novelty, but a sculpture of story. Of seasons, frost, family hands, and long orchard rows stitched into the land.
There was something quietly moving about it — a giant fruit in a paddock may sound whimsical, but here, it felt like a love letter to place. A reminder that even the simplest things — a crisp apple, a mountain breeze, a stretch of pasture — can mean everything when they’re part of where you come from.
In that moment, framed by fading sun and open field, the Big Apple wasn’t kitsch. It was poetry.
Out in the middle of a paddock — ringed by hills, grass brushing at its base — it stands: Batlow’s Big Apple. Bold, red, and beautifully out of place, yet so completely at home. A symbol of everything the town stands for — resilience, harvest, and deep-rooted pride.
I photographed it at golden hour, when the light softened and the hills behind it took on that warm, rolling glow. The apple caught the light like a beacon — not just a roadside novelty, but a sculpture of story. Of seasons, frost, family hands, and long orchard rows stitched into the land.
There was something quietly moving about it — a giant fruit in a paddock may sound whimsical, but here, it felt like a love letter to place. A reminder that even the simplest things — a crisp apple, a mountain breeze, a stretch of pasture — can mean everything when they’re part of where you come from.
In that moment, framed by fading sun and open field, the Big Apple wasn’t kitsch. It was poetry.