Up in an apple tree

I don’t want to climb up the apple tree.


I am older than the others.

I am also more aware of my mortality.

I don’t want to think about how long my bones would take to heal

at my age.

OK, So maybe I am not THAT OLD.

But I am more than twice as old as anyone else out here.

Except my husband.


Women my age are not normally found up apple trees.

If I fall will others laugh.

Or just shake there heads and say

“What is she doing up there in the first place.”


I will climb that apple tree.

Apples are good.

They keep doctors away.

They feed hungry people.

Picking apples is hard work.

Hard work is good.

It makes my body feel alive.

I wonder what would happen to world hunger,

if people stopped being afraid of hard work.

If we stopped just sponsoring people.

Or giving culturally inappropriate gifts.

And demonstrating that they need to leave the land.

And move to the city.

And get more stuff.

If we just give the example of love for the land

And hard work.

And less stuff to clutter our lives.

Well, bizarre thoughts from the top of an apple tree.

Coming face to face with our fears.

Fears of looking like a fool

And falling.