It looked so nice, as it stood there. The trunk was straight and the crown rich and green but it was all the beautiful apples as caught the attention, for a healthy apple tree with many apples were pleasing to look at.
It was the first time the tree carried so many fruits. It was only a few years old, and every year it was followed with excitement. “Will there be real apples this year?” The tree had worn a few apples before, but first now it was as it should be. “By the book,” said the beech tree that stood on the other side of the white-painted picket fence.
The apple tree even felt good, almost the same feeling as an eighteen year of age have with a newly acquired driver’s license in hand, and it felt like a serious joy that crawled right out into the finest ramifications.
“Now I’m an adult,” cheered it, “and when the summer has gone to a close, I will help to keep the big circuit go on. My descendants will see the world and start a family anywhere there are growth in the air and good soil to gain a foothold in. The kernels gets wings, if some children will eat of my apples, because they throw the cores around, and it’s better than housewives throwing together for kitchen garbage. Kernels should be spread, and birds have seldom access to kitchen garbage, and then will my kernels not get wings.”
The beech looked kindly indulgent down on the apple tree and added: “Not to discourage you, but isn’t there a limit to how far birds fly before they can deliver the kernels again? I mean, “The whole world” is big words. You will certainly be lucky if they reach the border, or at most to northern Italy.”
“Yes, you may be right,” replied the apple tree. “But in the long run it probably will work for my grandchildren and great-grandchildren, etc. gets longer and longer range, and therefore there is no reason to put the light under a bushel, or to crop the dreams. I am boundless when I feel all the zest for life and power of growth as is pouring out of me, and with so lovely, beautiful children, I am the richest tree, and although some of the apples will fall close to my trunk, there will hopefully be some spreading genes for all four winds to the four corners of the world. “
Eve sat on a white painted garden bench with a cup of coffee that smelled wonderful in the heat of the sun. The lawn had the healthiest green color and formed a golden age quaint contrast to the bench. The flowers in the garden was a delight to the eye, the dog roses scent mingled with the summer heat, and along with the many other scents, not forgetting the coffee, it triggered a sense of reality as reality really was or should be.
She rejoiced in her apple tree and its many fruits. She remembered clearly when she had bought the tree from the nursery, and had both before or since felt that a garden without apple trees wasn’t a real garden. But it was probably because she herself had grown up with fruitful gardens, where, in addition to apple and pear trees also were plums and mirabelles, redcurrants and blackcurrants, raspberries, cherries, and very down to earth both potatoes, radishes, carrots, strawberries and various herbs.
This tradition would she maintain, and the coffee tasted heavenly.
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