Apple Trees

We had around our house in Solon a number of trees. There were some old cherry trees, some young ones that Dad planted, some older peach trees, and some apple trees. There were several really big apple trees, and a relatively small apple tree on the boundary between our property and the widow who lived next door. The small tree on the property line had by far the most apples. I think it was because the widow took care of the tree.

We were not allowed to climb in any of the trees except the big old apple trees. Those old trees were strong, and had branches that weren't too high. We could never wait long enough for these apples to ripen; we were always eating them green and getting a tummy ache from it. If you climbed up one of those trees, and looked on a certain thick branch, you could see the initials of the older boys. How many happy moments we had resting on a branch of an old apple tree!

The apple tree we shared with the widow had wormy apples, but my mother didn't care. "I'll just cut out the bad parts," she would say. "So don't go throwing the apples around. And don't climb in that tree, you'll break the branches." The older boys and I would pick up the apples that fell on the ground. My mother would always make us take to the widow next door half of the apples that we gathered.