Six Apples and An Egg

The apples are falling.

All the trees are full this year.  The two crabapple trees have little green apples bunched in groups of four of five.  The animals eat them as soon as they fall.

The apple from the big McIntosh in the yard fall from high up with a hard thud.  They are variations of red, green, yellow and brown.  They are pocked, spotted and bruised.

Never the perfectly shaped apple from the grocery store, or even the orchard.

They are also crispy and tart, like a McIntosh is meant to be.

If the hens get to them first, they are scooped out by beaks.  The browning inside speckled with ants or a single Yellow Jacket.  I toss the very small and half eaten apples over the fence for the donkeys and sheep. I leave a few for the insects.

The ones that are still whole I gather for apple sauce.

Yesterday I cut up four apples and got about a cup of applesauce.  I added just a bit of water and a sprinkle of cinnamon. I put half in a small glass dessert dish and savored each spoonful.

It was as fresh as an apple off the ground and a touch less tart.

This morning when I was brushing Fanny,  out of the corner of my eye I saw a blur of movement, then heard the familiar thud.  They’re not always so easy to find even if I think I know where they fell. I imagine, even though they don’t sound like it, they bounce or roll.

Six apples this morning.  I still have to make them into apple sauce.  Maybe tomorrow but more likely over the weekend.