A Fall From Grace
I climb the familiar fence, which I think of as a threshold into the Garden of Eden, and land on the ground with a thud, announcing my presence. Faraway cows are keening. Buzzards are circling in the sky. I pick up a sturdy stick for walking, and to fend off cows if they bother me. With my empty backpack slung across my shoulder, I begin my solo hike into the gorge, thinking about the apple crisp and pies I want to make with foraged apples. The rolling hillside, still green, with quartz outcroppings and lots of thorny berry brambles to contend with, reminds me of the Irish countryside. The last time I was here, it was spring and I pretended I was walking in Ireland. Remembering that makes me smile.
It feels strange to be alone. This hike to a hidden orchard has been a yearly ritual for Joe and me, but he’s down the mountain helping to run a teen meditation retreat. The open terrain has a wildness to it that makes me feel exposed. I track the landmarks that lead to the orchard with my eyes. Holding my stick give me courage.
Following an old road path, past the rubble of what was once a house site, my footsteps alarm some roosting birds. They whisk themselves off, screeching in protest at my presence in their sanctuary. Down here there’s no wind and I can’t see the Parkway road. I know where I am but something is wrong. The orchard is empty of color.
Last year we had our pick; red delicious, golden, sweet, or sour. There were even plump pears, more than we could use, that we stuffed into our overflowing backpacks. But now there was not a single fruit in any of the dozen or so trees. None on the ground either.
I walk a little further, down to Joe’s and my favorite tree. It’s set apart from the others in the middle of open valley. It’s as if magic has left the world, when I see the tree is empty of ripe red. First I think of the drought but then remember last year’s warm winter, the early spring, and then a freeze that must have killed the budding blossoms.
The sun is low in the sky. It’s getting cold and I don’t stay long. My backpack swings a cadence as I trudge out of the valley and then back to where I pulled my car off the road. I was counting on biting into a fresh apple snack by this time, but now I feel parched. I know I can buy apples in the grocery store, but it isn’t the same as providing them for myself directly. I’m sad but also humbled to remember how fragile our food supply really is, so vulnerable to weather, dependent on water.
Post notes: You can read about last year’s hike in The Romance of Wild Apples HERE. And how Joe’s and my first meeting revolved around wild apples HERE.
November 4th, 2007 11:38 am
This was such a well-written though sad, sad story. As per usual, your gift of literary imagery is honed razor sharp. I hereby crown you, “one who does not disappoint.”
They used to say, “Money doesn’t grow on trees.” Apparently, not always do apples either.
November 4th, 2007 11:47 am
Every adventure happens for a reason.the next bite you’ll treasure even more probably sk
November 4th, 2007 12:37 pm
No pears on the pear tree here(Woodstock, GA). Sad….
November 4th, 2007 12:53 pm
I felt like I was walking with you. Lovely storytelling! I hope 2008’s a more normal year all the way around.
November 4th, 2007 12:53 pm
Nothing around our place either…that late freeze was a hard one, and timed just right to kill the blooms. My azaleas even got bit!
November 4th, 2007 7:17 pm
How sad, Colleen. You captured the feeling and expressed it so well that I felt as if I were walking along with you, through those colorful leaves on the ground. Then, no apples. Mother Nature often has lessons for us, and this changeable weather caused all sorts of variations. Even the store apples lack flavor, except for the Fuji apples from Australia. I’ve never tried cooking with them, but I may have to.
November 4th, 2007 9:13 pm
Well this is a very decent post. Thank you.
I am here from Michele’s place.
November 4th, 2007 9:26 pm
You tell a wonderful story. But how sad! It’s absolutely beautiful up there, even without the red of apples.
Thanks for stopping by – yes, they are cards (artist trading cards) they measure 2.5 x 3.5
November 4th, 2007 10:34 pm
I knew that was a ritual for you guys so when I first started reading I wondered where he was. I hate that…I knew the early frost took out a lot of crops around the area. What a shame.
November 5th, 2007 3:56 am
Such disappointment, but I am sure a delightful surprise of nature is waiting just around your corner in that grand place where you live! 🙂
November 5th, 2007 7:23 am
A beautifully written piece, Colleen. I can understand your disappointment at not finding apples, but it sounds like a lovely walk. (That’s a wonderful photograph, too).
We also have an autumn apple ritual. There is an old apple orchard above our house where the trees haven’t been tended for years. In the fall, we take a bag every time we walk up there and pick up apples. They are mostly mis-shapen, lumpy, and wormy, but they make wonderful apple bread, which I usually make loaf after loaf of, that we eat, freeze, and give away. But this year, there was not one apple. And we have missed our beloved fall tradition very much. So I understand.
November 5th, 2007 10:12 am
My sister’s farm tore out all their orcgards this year as it just isn’t economical anymore..the hail last year wiped them out and they could only sell for juice and applesauce. They are bringing in Chinese apples for less than farmers can sell them here…sad thing. Theirs are/were the best!
November 5th, 2007 1:53 pm
It is rather frightening how serious this really is—more so than ever now that the balance of everything on the planet is so out of whack….Global Warming, The Bees, The Droughts, The Ice Caps Melting….What is to become of this planet? One Wonders.
November 5th, 2007 2:00 pm
I think our “by now pay later” bill is coming due.
November 5th, 2007 5:29 pm
This is so sad. I had forgotten about last seasons strange weather and its effect on our food. Beautifully written Colleen.
November 5th, 2007 8:26 pm
A beautiful piece Colleen written with such clarity and crispness. I was right there with on your walk.
November 6th, 2007 8:49 am
Colleen,
How blessed you are to have such a magical place to visit. I really enjoyed taking that walk with you. You really have a gift with words. Thank you. Do you walk in the orchard during spring bloom? Surrounded by fragrant blossums alive with bees and the mountains calling in the distance. I’m there!
Our fall ritual is driving up your way and buying apples. The winsaps are my favorite. You can taste the crisp mountain air that they grew in. We were so happy to find some in Vesta, that I didn’t ask if they were local. They tasted different this year. Very floral and not as tart. Since we were juicing them for wine, the difference made them all the more special. I only regret that I didn’t buy more apples. All but one went into the wine, and Chris only allowed us a tiny taste of the juice. Now I know what they mean when they describe something as the nectar of the Gods!
November 6th, 2007 9:28 am
I actually did go to the old orchard in the spring for the first time this year specifically to see the blossoms but there were none. That’s how I got clued in that the reason we had no apples up here was because of a hard frost in the spring. If you come next year let me know and maybe we can do the old orchard hike with better results.
Thanks for visiting!
November 6th, 2007 9:39 am
wow… wonderful prose, colleen! i think the real magic is in your words….
we don’t pick them ourselves, but our little grocer carries them from a local orchard. but i know they didn’t produce much this year, either. i just bought a bag though, and intend to make some apple crisp soon, too.
November 7th, 2007 9:27 am
Wonderfully sad story. When an orchard fails a fall, it is a palpable loss. My uncle’s orchards bore nothing at all.
Next season with Joe and harvest I hope.
November 9th, 2007 8:37 am
thank you! that would be the highlight of our visit!! We have a few young heirloom fruit trees. Frost got most everything. My favorite tree, a limbertwig came thru with a few apples only to turn its toes up and die on me in June. Not sure why. Looked like fireblight. Caused one of the pears to die back to the ground also, but its managing to grow back.