Directly after departing from the bus driven by the surliest bus driver in all of Devon, I found myself by an apple tree bearing ripe fruit. These were a bit smaller than average sized largely red apples and when I later came to eat the one I had picked I found that it was crisp and sweet.
Unfortunately, so tasty was this apple that I had a large mouthful of it when I was passed by a couple walking by. I fear that my attempts to tell them where I found the apple were not as polite as I had intended as a result.
My daughter, R, is growing herself an apple tree. When she was much younger she was gifted a sunflower kit – a pot, some soil and sunflower seeds. My neglect managed to kill the seedlings while my daughter was away for the summer visiting her mother, and so the pot remained in the garden forlorn and barren for some time, until R planted one of the seeds from a Cox apple in it. This has now grown so that it is nearly as tall as her, certainly more than one metre high, and has a number of branches.
R is quite hopeful that it will grow edible fruit, particularly since we found that the Bramley apple – that essential constituent of many a tasty apple crumble – was created in just such a fashion, by a young girl planting the seed of her apple in the garden. Her grandmother, however, is quite doubtful.
Inspired by this D and I planted our own apple seeds, which we intended to grow in a pot together. However, one of the seedlings soon died, and so we have one tree to share. I think it must be at least three years old now, and it’s not all that impressive looking yet, but the time may soon be coming when it needs to be planted out permanently, and so it would be as well to have found somewhere I would be happy to live indefinitely. I know that where we are living now is not such a place.