I didn’t know apples came in different colors until I visited my grandparents’ farm. Apples were just red, weren’t they? The good ones?
But here they were – so many apples – green apples. Hanging from the trees. Beautiful shades of green. Some with green and pink. Some with green and red. They were so beautiful. Each tree had its own flavor, and each flavor had its own variation.
We helped my grandmother pick the apples each year. Baskets and baskets of apples from the tree. My grandfather gave the fallen apples to the cows. Because they’re rotten, I thought. I wouldn’t give them something rotten, he assured me. Nothing was wasted. Everything had value. Even me.
George Washinton often referred to his home in Mount Vernon, as his own personal vine and fig. “May the children…who dwell in this land continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other inhabitants – while every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.”
In the shade of green apples, Rueben and Elsie Hvezda created our “own personal vine and fig.” Because of them, I rest there, even today.
I believe there comes a responsibility with that, the luxury of being well rested.
Today, take a breath and enjoy that comfort. And then, invite someone in. All must be welcomed.
April 21, 2021 at 2:31 pm
Thank you for the tribute to my parents, nice memories of good people.