Vermont Weathervane -- The Apple Wagon

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CELEBRATE THE SEASON:
Thoughts of Vermont
by Sinclair Lewis

The Apple Wagon
by Wayne Kelly

Cider Ha'd and Sweet
by Dayrle Thomas

The Trees of Autumn
In Pursuit of Excellence

IN THE FARMHOUSE KITCHEN:
Home From the Orchard
Apple and Pumpkin Recipes

VERMONT VERSES
October in Vermont

GARDENING:
October Gardening Tips
by Leonard Perry

VERMONT BY HAND
Gay Ellis, Finds Success With Bold Garments
by Kirt Zimmer

INTO THE OUTDOORS:
Going South for the Winter

VERMONT WEATHERVANE BOOK NEWS:
The Perfect Pumpkin
Pumpkins are Perfect for a Plethora of Purposes
The Candlemaker's Companion
Guide to Candlemaking

GET OUT AND ABOUT:
Vermont Country Calendar
Statewide Calendar of Events

EXPLORE OUR OTHER SEASONS:
FALL
WINTER
SPRING
SUMMER

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or call: 802-645-9631
RD 1, Box 680
West Pawlet, VT 05775

The Apple Wagon
In tribute to Mad Tom Orchard in East Dorset, Vermont - closing after 65 years

by Wayne Kelly

Alone and weatherworn, the dry, decrepit remains of a ragged artifact rest silently in the random batches of long, irregular grasses. The cadaver's solemn form is still; the inanimate wheels with their radial spokes speak no audible word of greeting. No moan or sigh rises from its aging timbers. No utterance escapes its arthritic frame.

Its boards are gray and advanced in years, and its long, oaken tongue lay lifeless on the ground, its last, panting gasp having passed long years ago. Its ghostly shadow merges with those of the twisted trees, the branches grim and voiceless, the stricken trunks gnarled and grizzled with age. The limbs no longer tremble with the weight of their scarlet harvest, nor does an errant, whispering wind startle the shivering fledgling from its nest.

It is an orchard overgrown. Gone are the youthful voices that once had gathered there atop the apple wagon, bouncing with bold abandon upon its timber bed, while grownups nurtured order, dispensing bags and baskets, all the while instructing in the use of picking-poles.

The very air, it seems, has absorbed the laughter of schoolchildren engaged in merry chase through well-mown grassy mazes that opened out beneath the shade at the base of every tree. And here in this plantation, the phantom shapes of family members, loving friends and neighbor folk assemble in the sun-swept hours in praise of this sweet harvest. A great concourse of human souls celebrates this "harvest home" - this garden of Hesperides, one last time in vesper song 'neath Hesperus's rising star.

Memories here abound. The drives to see the blossoms, the blooming of the fruit. The night of the eclipse when father and son sat spellbound in the orchard's embrace, as the "limb" of the moon skimmed the limb of the tree, and apples gave way to angels.

And through it all the apple wagon remains. A vehicle between then and now.

The poet Edna St. Vincent Millay captured it best:

"Love in the open hand, nothing but that,

ungemmed, unhidden, wishing not to hurt,

as one should bring you cowslips in a hat

swung from the hand, or apples in her skirt;

I bring you, calling out as children do:

'Look what I have! - And these are all for you.'"

From Chapman to Chekhov, the ideal stays the same - it is noble to plant an orchard. And when the orchard dies, the wagon takes us home.

Wayne Kelley of East Dorset, Vt. is a regular contributor of seasonal essays and poetry.