Under the Apple Tree
“Elaine, where are you?” was my mother’s frequent call, to which my grandfather would reply, “She’s here, she’s okay.” Here was a gnarled, weather-beaten apple tree, my favorite childhood retreat — especially if it meant time with my grandfather.
For hours my grandfather would quietly sit, seldom speak, and simply listen while I rambled on about everything and nothing. While he was not noted for patience and tolerance, he always seemed to have an endless amount of time to listen to whatever I had to say, and was never judgmental. He did not solve my problems or give advice, but instead skillfully led me to my own conclusions.
Occasionally my grandfather would pull out his favorite old pocket knife, carefully wipe it on a clean handkerchief, reach up, pick an apple, and slice a piece for me. Those apples were green, hard and sour, but provided a tastier treat than candy because of the love with which they were presented.
The food for thought my grandfather provided nurtured my mental and emotional development, just as the apples from the tree fed my physical growth. No matter what the situation, I can still close my eyes, drink in the scent of the flowers, taste the tartness of the fruit, but most of all feel the warmth and security of that nurturing environment and know the questions my grandfather would ask in order to provide needed guidance. “Under the apple tree” was and remains my sustenance.
Soil lush with growth,
Air heady with the scent of new blossoms,
A protective canopy of branches heavy with fruit;
Wrapping one in a nurturing blanket of care,
What a wonderful place to visit!
Send Us Your Memories
We love sharing photos and memories dear to our readers.Submit your story and photos
More of your memories