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By Amy Hollis Taylor, as seen on her blog, ~Amy~

 

 The tree felt a snag. He heard a plunk. Another apple, fallen. The tree heaved and bellowed his daily grief, "Will no one pick my apples?" It was high time to be harvested, but, as it had been with the last twenty years, he and his fellow trees had been neglected. The tree sighed and settled in for another day of painfully watching his babies fall, smash, and bruise.

 

Far away in New York City, a man longed for his apple orchard. Twenty years ago, what was called the Great Depression had started, and now the world was at war for the second time in the century. Twenty years ago, the man had been a boy. His family had been forced to leave their orchard after a fire had ruined the year's harvest. Now the boy was grown and knew that he could leave for his one true home...except, he had a job. What with his bad eyesight, he had been unable to join the army, couldn't stand to work in a factory. So, he ran the mercantile. People conveyed all kinds of gossip through his store. He hated it. He longed for the quiet and the trees. The answer to his predicament came in the form of a young man, looking for work. After a thorough interview, the man, Mr. Hompkins, had the job of owner and manager of the new Hompkins Mercantile. Within a week the man was ready to leave New York forever. He packed up his truck and set off for his trees.

The tree felt something, not a snag, for sure, something as gentle as a breeze. The Boy was coming home.

Twenty years later, the man and his son were climbing the ladders and picking the apples for the annual harvest. The man approached the tree. With a contented sigh, the tree relaxed and enjoyed the rhythmical pull of the man's hands.

The man sighed also sighed as he taught his son to twist the apples. He walked toward his favorite tree and climbed up the ladder. He was home.