Apple Dreams

I have an apple tree in my yard.

This astonishing discovery came only a short while ago. We’ve lived here for six years.

This tree sits in the back corner of the yard and has never been pretty or fragrant or useful in any way. Too low for a good climb, too spindly for a rope swing, too close to the swamp for a good sit.

Last fall, I spied a round greenish bauble hanging on a low branch. At first it didn’t even register that it was an apple. Close inspection revealed a pink glow beginning of the back side. Glee. I quickly searched the whole tree and found only one other apple, near the top branches. That was it. Two apples.

Despite their rough appearance, a brown spot here and a worm hole there, the bites I took were tart, sweet and crisp, not at all mealy or bitter.

And I thought that was it. The tree was old and having one more fling with two apples. It always seemed weak and frail anyway.

As luck would have it, we built a shed last year. Because the dimensions of the shed grew beyond what we originally planned, we had to cut off one of the limbs of the apple tree. I had already plucked my two apples, I thought it wouldn’t kill the whole tree.

To the contrary. As of this week, my tree is draped with promising green orbs. Branch after branch, little apples peek out from under leaves. I’m not an idiot, I understand the principles of pruning, I just thought there was no hope after years and years of nothing.

Now, in this heat that makes stove cooking unbearable, I’m dreaming of apple pie and apple muffins. I can almost smell the crisp autumn air dappled with cinnamon. Brats with apple-onion relish, pork roast with mashed apple sauce, baked apples with cream, all the things I couldn’t bear to eat in this heat are living in the back of my mind, patiently.

But I see even further, to the harvest after this one. Because now that she’s given me the sign, I can figure out how to best prune her and protect her from worms. Feverishly, I’m online trying to find the best organic means of helping her thrive. And I don’t even know her name.

We bought this house from the original owners, the people who built it over 30 years ago. How long was she neglected? How long did her apples go unpicked? Years of nothing, waiting.

Waiting for me.