AUTUM JEWEL

You’ll find it standing alone in the middle of a paddock — tall, red, proud — the Big Apple of Batlow. At first glance, it might seem playful, even odd, but if you’ve ever called this place home, or driven through with the windows down in autumn, you’ll know: it means something.

This apple doesn’t just mark a town. It honours it. A symbol of harvests gone by, of crisp mornings and crate-laden trucks, of families who’ve worked these hills for generations. It’s a monument to the orchards that have shaped Batlow’s story — through frost, fire, and fierce seasons.

I photographed it at dusk, with the long grass swaying around it and the hills bathed in soft gold. Behind it, the land rises — quiet, strong, familiar. Just like the people here.

The Big Apple isn’t just an icon. It’s a thank you. To growers. To pickers. To everyone who’s packed a box, planted a tree, or called this high country home.

And in that still moment — paddock wide, sky open — you feel it. The pride. The place. The heart that’s as big as the apple itself.