The local radio (yes, I still listen to the radio) was discussing apples this afternoon.
The public broadcaster hosts an afternoon general interest show where a pair or trio of hosts chatter about local news topics, update on weather and traffic, interview local businesses, and generally have a daily topic encouraging people to engage and discuss and drop comments onto their feeds to participate in said chatter.
Today the topic was apples.
I don’t know how it goes in your part of the world, but around here almost everyone has or knows someone who has an apple tree.
Mine is a magnificent fifteen year old baking variety apple. She stands nearly as tall as my two-storey house, and this year dropped roughly two thousand greenish-red orbs of tartly sweet goodness into bowls, pails, dirt, grass, the neighbour’s yard, and even quite nearly onto the dog’s head.
We made some pies.
We froze some sliced samples.
But in reality we just couldn’t keep up.
I posted online with pleas for friends to come pick… but again, everyone has or knows someone who has an apple tree, so no takers.
Next year will likely be a quieter year for fruit in our yard, the tree seeming to be a biannual giver of bounty.
I didn’t call in or participate in the radio program, not by tweet or by text, but I did pause to listen, aligning my own experience participating in the growing of the local crop right in my backyard with countless neighbours around the city. It was a moment almost as sweet as a fresh backyard apple.
