By Velma M. Rose Smith, April 28, 1990

The pear tree is in bloom. Yesterday it was 102 degrees on the outside thermometer. But we have lived here 55 years, and there has been a frost every year while the pear tree is blossomed.

I began to recall the old orchard over home, how pretty a sight, and the air so sweet with apple blossom perfume. I can remember where each tree stood. I fell out of most of them. There were the spy trees, the King tree, the Baldwins, the Sheepnose, the Douce, the August Sweet, the August sours, the Asthbacans (red) and the two Russet trees and two Pippin trees.

The morning Papa died I walked out on the porch and looked up at what was left of the orchard. We loved apples and I recall the winter evenings when we sat around with the pan of apples and can of chestnuts. Papa reading the Saturday Evening Post or Cosmopolitan or Mama would play the organ and sing hymns.

When Grandma Rose was living we peeled and sliced apples and strung them on a string, and hung them up to dry, for pies.

When we moved out to Arnold’s old home, there was a big orchard there. They had several varieties, but more spy trees. Arnold and I hand picked 25 bushes of spies one fall for Arnold to peddle. There was a greening tree and one old douce apple tree stood by itself. I think whenever one of those big juicy apples hit the ground, I sent Wayne to get it, or went myself. They were mostly water, sweet and tasted so good.