Monday, October 19, 2020

Picking Apples


 Grandpa Dallas Matheson's

apple orchard grew above the frost line

on Shewbird Mountain.

Each fall he took the sled

through the woods glowing

with orange, ruby, and lemon leaves

to pick the apples:

the black beauty, horse apple, hog sweet,

red June, striped May, pumpkin apple,

queen pippin, pound apple, and Ben Davis.

The grandchildren climbed the trees

and picked dozens of fruit,

every red, yellow, and red striped apple.

They made apple cider, apple butter,

and Ma Minnie's dried apple stack cake

and apple dumplings melted in your mouth.

--Brenda Kay Ledford







9 comments:

Ruth Hiebert said...

Ok, now I am wanting a nice crispy and juicy apple.

lil red hen said...

Sounds like a wonderful day to have those delicious apples to pick! And the pictures are so pretty: makes a person's mouth water.

janet smart said...

I love apples! Our apple trees don't produce so much any more, but when they did, they were what we called rusty yellow apples, and they were delicious! I enjoyed your poem, and I just happened to have fried apples for supper tonight.

Henny Penny said...

Oh, I love your words and the pictures. I LOVE apple picking time. Years ago, Dan and I and my mother were in Waynesville for the applae festival. We visited apple orchards. Mama loved it. We really enjoyed it too and I have wanted to go back ever since. There is just nothing like Fall in the mountains.

Elaine/Muddling Through said...

Wow! What wonderful memories. And what beautiful apples. I cannot even imagine. Ours is definitely NOT an apple climate.

BVLW said...

The apple pictures are so realistic that I want to reach in and take a bite. Sure do love the beautiful verse that goes along with the apples. The verse paints a super image.
BVLW

Beatrice P. Boyd said...

This is a perfect poem for the season, Brenda, and later on I will enjoy an apple. Apples and fall just go together so well. Also, thanks for your recent visit to my blog and comment on the Brookline Sculpture Garden which we visited. It was such an interesting adventure.

Eggs In My Pocket said...

lovely poem. When I was young, my parents would take my brother and I along to an apple orchard. We would pick apples and then ride home crammed in the back seat between baskets of fresh smelling apples. Those apples gave us so many good things to eat through the weeks and months.

Glenda Beall said...

Brenda, this post makes my mouth water. Love the poem and the photos of those delicious apples.