The Big Red Apple

My kids, both of them, for part of their speech development have gone through a time of narrating, or speaking as if they were reading from a book - ie. "I want to watch my space ranger movie, said the little boy."  This, I believe, comes from all the books we read.  Tommy phrases his requests, questions, and statements as if they were spoken by a character in a story.

A few weeks ago Tommy stomped up to me, shook his finger in the air and growled, monotone, "I want a big, red, juicy apple.  Said the robot."  So I washed one, pulled off the stem, handed it to him and he went on his way.

It wasn't until I pulled this book out to read to the kids that I realized where the big, red apple bit came from. 

The Big Red Apple, although barely held together at the spine, is in almost as good condition now as it was when I bought it before Pippi's birth.  Amazing really, when you consider how brittle are the pages.  And how much action this book has seen through the years in our home.  It's one of those books that the kids request every day, sometimes twice daily, for a week or so, then it gets put up on a shelf and they forget about it for months at a time.  But then, one day, it is rediscovered.  And it's like no time has passed at all.

The book is simple.  A boy laying on a rug with a picture book.  His grandfather drowsing over the newspaper.  Grandpa says, "I wish I had a big red apple!  I could show you how to roast it, Bobby."  Bobby runs outside, races through the leaves blanketing the ground.  But stops short at an apple tree.  Stripped bare.  Bobby sets off to find out just what happened to all the apples.  He asks a kitten he finds in the pumpkin patch.  A friendly puppy.  A gray squirrel in the wood.  But none of his animal friends can help him. 

Finally, Bobby asks Farmer Tom, who is on his knees pulling turnips.

Farmer Tom takes Bobby into the barn.  Which is full to bursting with the fall harvest.  He explains to Bobby that the first frost is upon them.  And that they must pick the apples before the temperature drops. 

This is my favorite fall story.  My favorite story that explains the seasons, and how they influence growing things.  Maybe because I can remember sitting on my grandmother's lap, still hear her voice as she read me this book, still remember picking pears off her trees before the first frost could claim them.  Or maybe the book is really that good.  Can stand on it's own without all my sentimental notions. 

I'll never know. 




But I digress.  I do that quite a bit, don't I? 

So, Farmer Tom lets Bobby take his pick of the apples.  Let's him wander from barrel to barrel.  Bobby soon discovers there are more than big red apples stored in the barn.  He spies "piles of golden pumpkins, heaps of green and yellow squashes, turnips, and Indian corn."

I would have loved to have been a farmer's child.  To walk into a barn and find heaps of produce stored away for the winter.  We have a garden.  A good sized urban garden.  But definitely not a farm.  I've never produced enough to store.  But sometimes I like to pretend I'm a farmer, putting away food for the winter.  At heart, I've never grown up.  I buy produce when it's on sale.  Pounds of apples, bananas, and grapes.  Plums.  Peaches.  Berries.  Then I dehydrate and cook.  Until I have shelves full of apple and banana chips.  Raisins.  Jams.  Applesauce.  Applebutter. 

 So, Bobby picks his apple, a big red one, and races back home to Grandfather.  Who ties it to a string and hangs it over the fire, to roast.  Sweet drops of apple juice sizzling on the logs. 

What could be better than this?