In our town and for miles all around, farmers long ago cleared away fallen trees and wrested out boulders from the soil to plant acres upon acres of apple trees. This was their legacy to their children and their children’s children, to carry tiny seeds or fragile saplings in calloused hands across the fields, drop them into sunny places, traipse back for another, and then another, until an orchard was made.
I do not need to wonder why barns are red when I look at the blossoms on an apple tree.
Have a beautiful weekend, everyone!
Smallpeace 