Apples and Walnuts

When we lived in "The Little Brown House on 62,"  we had a huge-to-me apple tree in the back yard close to the property line by Trummers.  There was a building close to it also, which may or may not have  been a chicken house.  Greta and I used to play under the apple tree in the summer, and I seem to remember a dog house being there at one time even though I remember Brownie, our Cocker Spaniel, being tied behind the garage,

In late summer Greta and I always had a chore to do before Dad mowed the yard: pick up apples.  There was always an abundance of apples on the ground, and I never remember picking any from the tree, eating any of them, but there sure were plenty on the ground to pick up before Dad would mow.  Perfect job for two young daughters, right?  Lots of energy could be expended by a under-12 year old and her sister who was four years younger as they bent and picked up all of the apples on the ground.

Except for one thing.  Many of the apples were rotten.  Soft and squishy. Oozing with brown juice. Sometimes covered with ants.  Occasionally a worm would have eaten its way through the flesh.

Needless to say this was not a task that Greta and I enjoyed, and I remember Greta returning to the house and not fulfilling her end of the apple-pick-up duties.  Most of the time I was alone, squinting my eyes, holding my breath, wishing for gloves or at least a pair of tongs so I didn't have to touch the putrid juiciness of rotten apples.

Why this topic for today's blog?  As I was mowing this afternoon, I hit hundreds (well, maybe not quite that many but it sure sounded like it) walnuts from the trees in our back yard.  As they pinged while I was circling the back backyard, I thought that this would be a great job for the grandkids, picking up walnuts!  Then I remembered that when we tried to convince Megan and Hilary that this would be a fun activity, neither of them showed any type of enthusiasm, and Megan always had to finish her homework or read a book in he bathroom.

I remember a few years ago I had the bright idea that some of my colleagues might like some of their own black walnuts after one had told me she envied me for having black walnut trees in my yard.  Just picking up a bagful for her was enough to make me permanently shelve that idea of marketing them.

Black walnuts. Apples. I wonder if that apple tree is still there in the yard behind "The Little Brown House on 62."  Maybe another little girl is picking up the apples from the ground so her dad can mow?