The Life of an Apple - From Birth to Rebirth(Charles A. Mazzarella) The Life of an Apple: From Birth to Rebirth

The first thing I remember is coolness and a feeling of movement. My parents told me that was wind and said to “hold on tight”. I did. Several sunrises ago, my white and pink petals fell off. Before that, I smelled really good. My petals were like little wings and I flew around in the breeze and chatted with bees. I asked my mom and dad if we would get petals again when we were bigger. They said no, but we did get leaves and could look at the flowers in the garden and remember. We are apples after all, not tulips, thank goodness. I had to be reminded because I was still very young and knew nothing of Life.

Compared to others, our lives are short. But, I was able to see so much while I was alive. Everyday presented a new challenge – birds, worms, bees, the sun, the rain, and a large human with a salt shaker; more about him later. I was lucky enough to be a crispy Macintosh apple. I have never met any other kinds, but have heard there are many, many other styles: bigger and smaller, of all different colors. There are even ‘apples that are not apples’ – crabapples. But, my family was friends with all sorts of plants, trees, and flowers. I will tell you all about my challenges, neighbors and memories but, family comes first.

My parents are old and my family is large. Mother and dad work together. They are the roots and bark, limbs and leaves of our home; known to humans as a tree. “There is always so much work to do”, my parents always say. They have to feed all of us, while we are young, make energy, shop for food in the soil and air, and conserve the rain and hose water so we have enough throughout the year. I have many, many brothers and sisters; some are cousins I think. We do what we can to help our parents, but there are times when we have to rely on the wind and rain and the five humans that live nearby: a tall one, a fair-haired one, an old one, and two younger ones.

We are happy just to be apples. But nonetheless, there are a few groups that resent us; bees and wasps, for example. They seem to be our friends when we all have petals; saying ‘hello’ and visiting us all. Maybe even then though, they were just being cordial as they stole our pollen for themselves. In some way they did help us to grow, I was told. As we grow, they buzz around, eating at us, as do the birds; either as we still cling on the tree or have fallen to the grass below. I’ve decided bees are not to be trusted. You may hear more from me about bees later.

I was so small when the sun first started to stay out there longer and longer. Staying attached to my branch would be tough some days. The air blew, leaves would fall, and some siblings that were as small as me, would fall to the ground and be taken away by some spiky-looking tool. Usually, the tall one would use this tool and away would go leaves or my fallen family members. There were times a young one would use that spiky tool also; though not as often.

He, this young one with the wind-blown hair, liked to climb up our tree as high as he could see. He was lucky to have never fallen from so high. He was careful and mom and dad helped him a bit, thanks to their sturdy limbs and coarse bark.

The sun was stronger as I grew bigger. The grass below tried to reach us, but every so often, the tall one came along with a noisy tool and the grass would get smaller, for a while. The grass was always a friend – catching my dead or dying siblings as they fell, giving the leaves a place to land, even helping the roots gather water, as we shared it with the soil no one ever saw. I never met any of my neighbors, only the occasional bird that would hop around on our branches. But, my neighbors and I became friends as we talked from afar. Of course, we talked about the weather, especially when it was fierce.

We always said ‘Good Morning’, ‘Please’ and ‘Thank You’ when humans would be near to give us water or while looking to see how big we were getting. I think they would hear us as they would talk to their friends and neighbors about how proud they were of us. My parents were happy to see the tall one, the fair-haired one, the old one, and the two younger ones, whom they loved the most. Sometimes the young one with long hair would climb up a little to see her world from our tall branches. Mostly though, the young human with wind-blown hair climbed our limbs to escape the strong hold the ground has on everything. He hugged our branches and thanked them for being sturdy and strong.

The sun changed places with the moon many times; I learned later these are called days. Everything has a name. I learned some names before my last day. It was July when I first started to notice a big change in me. I went from being small, dull, and sour to large, shiny, and sweet. I still had more growing to do, but I felt different; more grown up, more like an Apple. I was proud. Days continued to pass and the tall one would come by with a rake or a mower to massage the grass and keep it close to the soil. Then, to my surprise, the tall one would reach up and pick a green, “unripe” apple from “his” tree and eat it with his salt shaker!

I guess this got me to think about my own fate. I had to ask my parents about this. They said humans consider us food, but a beloved food, especially home grown as we were. I like that we are admired and loved, but I don’t like that we should be eaten. Yet, there must be worse fates in the life of an apple. I asked how else humans like to eat apples and I was amazed at what I learned.

Apples and products made from us are numerous and are held in high regard. The tomatoes have mentioned this in recent days. In fact, they consider it an honor to be made into a sauce or used as part of something called a sandwich. One tomato told us that, in the past, they have been referred to as ‘love apples’. They didn’t know what that meant and I never found out. I do not know how I feel about someone picking me off my tree and somehow eating me. I will have to think about this. I still have to worry about the birds, the wind, or the tall guy with his salt shaker.

I have learned so much within the last few weeks. Some of my brothers and sisters started turning red; our true color. I started to change color slightly, but must be a slow apple, still being a little dull and very green.

Looking back, I can see I was somehow saved for a more special reason. I am still struggling with my purpose in Life. I am an apple! I did not know I was a type of food for humans or bees or birds! I know I am getting sweeter and more full of water every day. I am just beginning to accept my fate and have to develop a hardy view. As my parents have explained to me, this is Life. We need to enjoy it as long as we can; for a few weeks or an entire season. They reminded me there are worse ways for my life as an apple to end; I have seen some: to fall on the grass and slowly die as you are nibbled on by bees and pecked at by uncaring and hungry birds.

I have been trying not to grow too fast or get too red, so someone picks me. I have been holding onto my branch tightly so the wind or rain do not knock me off, causing me to bruise on the grass and become some robin’s treat. I’ve also seen apples that stay too long and die in the tree; shriveled, ill, and unloved. I want to be loved by the human that picks me.

The heat of the summer is lifting a bit; the sun is not as strong on my face. I have turned very red regardless; having been able to keep some green. Many of my brothers and sisters are still with me, but many have either fallen or were picked. I hear a few fellow apples from a nearby table. Some are in the human dwelling they call a house. Some apples sit in a glass bowl while others ripen on a flat wooden area near a view. The talk is of the fair-haired human making something called Apple Squares. I don’t know what they are. I wonder if she remembers how to make them? She comes to grab the apples from the table. Later, I smell apples, but they smell a bit different.

Believe it or not, we are still able to communicate with each other after we are pecked at by birds or changed in form somehow. Our sensitivity to our own language is very acute. Some of my cousins tell of how they are in a goo of some sort, now that they have been in the hottest place they’ve ever been; warmer that the sun we know. They are tired but happy to be a part of something different made with pride.

Our life has a purpose. At least that’s what I have learned I want for myself. I hang onto my branch but it does get harder to do so every day. I enjoy the air and how it moves me and the leaves and I like chatting with my neighbors and discussing Life with my family.

The younger human with the wind-blown hair and the tall man, this time without his salt shaker, come to pick all of my brothers and sisters from our tree, including me. We are stacked so close to each other; close enough to kiss and be kissed. Bees buzz around for some reason; that’s what bees do, I’ve learned.

Before I was picked, I noticed the two humans set up a structure close to the grass. It must be another tool. I ask my parents, for they are old and may have seen that before. They said they think it is called a press. Apples, pears, or grapes have been put inside, and out from a small hole at the bottom dripped something called juice. Maybe that is what is inside of me. My parents also said that prior generations of apples have told them there is a lot of pressure, but what is made, is made out of love by the humans. They felt it was then that they knew their purpose and were happy, even as part of this juice.

This is the closest to the grass I have ever been, so we talk for a while. The grass tells me something about cold, white flakes that fall and cover them for a long time until the sun gets strong enough again to melt the flakes away. Grass said I would like it but doubted I would ever get a chance to see it, they believed. The grass and I then recall, at the same time, how white flakes did fall on a day long ago. I didn’t even have my petals yet. But, I remember the cold feeling on my face. Sometimes the rain got that cold also. The grass must not have as good a memory as we apples do.

My brothers, sisters, cousins, and I are rolled onto a flat surface; again, we are very close together. As I had a worm on me, I am picked up by the young one with the wind-blown hair and placed in a pile with a few other siblings. I never noticed that little hole, there on my back. I felt pain now and then, but just thought I was getting old; sore from holding onto my branch all of my life.

Seven other of my sisters and brothers rest in the sun and I notice they have little worm holes too. Nearby, in that contraption, the rest of our siblings are converted from whole apples into juice. Though they said it hurts, they are happy. Soon, their juice is poured into a clear glass bottle and stored in a cool place inside the human’s house.

The apple juice continued to report that days pass quickly but they saw no moon. Most times, it was dark, then light; dark, then light. They still see the humans they know and their fellow sibling apples. Greetings of ‘Good Morning’ are still exchanged, though they may go unheard by the humans.

Those of us in the pile are placed on a table outside. I am set aside while the rest of my kin are put in some sort of paper bag. I learn that they are on their way to a farm that is close by and will be dried to become part of decorations or have their seeds harvested to grow new trees.

Three days pass as I sit outside on the table. I notice the tall one take his mower to make the grass short again. Then, other tools are taken out. The young ones pick me off the table and place me in the soil. As this is the first time soil and I have met, I say hello. She said we will have a long time to get to know each other. I asked her what she thinks I am doing out here anyway. She tells me, ”You have been chosen to make an Apple tree. So, drink a lot of water, eat the vitamins I bring to you, and rest. Soon, you will notice a big change, but that will happen when the snow arrives to cover us.” Snow. That is the name of the white flakes!

I talk to my parents who are near by. They tell me to rest, but I am too nervous. They reassure me and start sending me vitamins and minerals to eat when it is cold. I ask them if I will like being a tree. They said, “Yes dear. You like being an apple and now you get to grow your own children. We will be here with you for a long, long time and will remind you, at first, to hold on tight to your children, as we did with you. You will then learn for yourself and become very wise.”

I have learned that it has been years since I first had petals. I have been able to see the snow come and go a few times. I have even talked to pine trees that were used for decoration in the human home. I talked to the snow a lot as those cold flakes hugged my tender bark. This year, I will have leaves and little buds that will become flowers. After, I will have my own children to hold onto. I still see the family that has lived next to me all my life. Though the boy with the wind blown hair is taller, he still likes to climb my parents; that old tree.

I am glad I held on so tight while I was still green. I am so happy to now be an Apple tree. I keep watch for the bees and the birds, and the tall man with the salt shaker. Pride swells within me, knowing I was picked and planted with love. My adopted family still comments about how big I am getting and how amazing it is that, “we were able to grow this tree from an apple from our own backyard.” I just hope the man takes as good of care of me as he does my parents. I know I will do my part.

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