October 12 - 20 years ago, on a cold spring day, a friend and I planted rows of baby trees, that would one day grow into a sturdy apple orchard, mostly Macintoshes (some Cortlands and Russetts), on his farm. This past weekend, I went back, and got to pick some apples off those trees. The hills nearby were all orange and red, the air crisp, and every shade of muted brown could be found gathering around the hedgerows. I picked a basket full of apples, and we went back inside, chomping on a few, and a few hours later the lady of the house had made us all an apple pie. On bad days, I sometimes wonder if the only decent thing I have contributed to earthly betterment is those trees. On good days, with a slice of apple pie in me cooked from apples off my own tree, I sometimes think exactly the same thought.
(p.t.)