Apple orchards always had a kind of special life of their own, in my mind.
An apple orchard, in the old days, had the far ranging nature of a
Victorian mansion. We lived on larger plots of land in those times,
so trees could be planted in good number.
Where I lived as a boy the old Orchard which had served for centuries, was still there on the property, though it had fallen into a kind of poetic ruin of its earlier self. Smaller and curiously shaped trees were growing where a century earlier there had probably been much more order. The trees often had those eerie shapes one remembers from productions like “The legend of Sleepy Hollow.” I had some good times climbing the trees or inventing ways of getting
to the best apples, (often on the highest branches).
I still remember the sound of one plunking to the ground after I worked it loose from a high up limb. These I would often eat on the spot as they would often be gashed by the fall and in need of speedy
Sometimes I would bring a book and make a warm fall day of it in the Orchard as many might have enjoyed a day of fishing. I read some of my first readings of Ray Bradbury that way.
You know, television had been around for a long time when all this
happened. Like the Character in Bradbury’s “The pedestrian…”
I wonder I wasn’t arrested for “regressive behavior.”
Maybe we need a sort of park or preserve where we can enjoy some of these old fashioned pleasures. Where we can squint our eyes a bit and bring the past back all sweet and clear.
And if we’ve never known that kind of past, where we can experience
things we may have wondered about but never really realized… were once a real part of everyday life… I would welcome such a place. I hope picnicking would be allowed!
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