Across the street from my parents' house is an apple tree. There is an explosion of apples happening there.
The first night we were in town my mom said, "I'm trying to figure out how to ask that man for his apples, but we don't really know him."
The next evening we were on a walk and the man with the apple tree called over his fence to us. "Do you guys want some apples?" he said. "I don't eat apples, but some people say they're quite good. I just rake them into piles around the yard when they fall. I can leave you a bag outside the gate."
"Or we could just come pick some ourselves," said my mom. "If that's easier for you."
And so we did. We picked apples for a fast and furious 15 minutes, and went home with a couple baskets and buckets overflowing with bright and crisp apples. The branches were hanging so low that even the boys could pick them. They gathered them off the ground and took a bite here and there, before throwing them back down. We gathered a dozen little wormy ones off the ground, and took them to our neighbor's horses, too.
It made me want an apple tree so badly! Just one tree. Just one little tree, branches drooping with sweet, crunchy, perfect little apples would be plenty for our family.
Another thing to add to my future-home-wishlist, I guess.
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