You would not think there would be beauty in a rotten apple.
I can see this enormous apple tree from my kitchen window, down the back slope in our yard. In spring, it is resplendent with blossoms; in summer its branches hang low and create a “camp” where my children play; in fall the leaves turn and the apples drop. Only this year, rather than drop, the apples are hanging on into winter.
They are bright ornaments on a bare tree, wearing little white caps when it snows.
There is a tree in our yard. Two trees, in fact. They grow together, wrapping their roots around each other and tricking the eye into thinking they are one tree until closer inspection.
They are two kinds of crab apples, their trunks so close they are like one.
Every season, they produce a new kind of pretty.
Blossoms and tiny leaves in spring, full and green in summer, bright orange and red in fall, and gray-black branches a contrast against winter snow.
And every season, I capture them with my camera.
On our trip to Ontario, we took the kids apple picking.
Endless rows of apple trees lined the fields; each tree bursting with ripe fruit. Thousands of apples for the taking.
The kids took turns climbing onto their father’s shoulders, reaching for the highest, reddest apples they could find. We filled a barrel to bring home: apple pie, apple crisp, apple muffins…
And we savoured the sweet, crisp taste of apples straight from the tree.