family tree
this year, he's giving and giving. perhaps he's trying to prove himself, trying to show off his bearing talents, since he may have overheard the family discussing his removal. or, perhaps he's old and ready to die and wanted to go out with a bang. whatever the reason, the result was a beautiful bucket of red apples, not shiny with wax, but earthy with a layer of tree-love still on them. a few drill holes from apple bugs, but in beautiful condition. this is special fruit.
if i was an apple, home-grown from the backyard family tree, i would do my utmost to get into a pie - a homemade pie, dotted with butter, sprinkled with cinnamon, and covered in a real flaky crust. that would be my crown of glory, my opus.
these apples just called for more than a chomp or a slice. these apples were born from a tree of history, from a tree grown in the dirt under our feet. and so, i crowned them with glory and honor, said 'well done, good and faithful apples," and tossed them in among the sugar and cinnamon. dancing and sizzling to perfection inside a tender, butter-happy crust, this must have been their final delight, their holy reward.

