Apple pie

 He climbed to the top of an apple tree, where he could see the whole world—or so it seemed to an eight-year-old. From his perch, he spotted a man walking to his car and a lady with her newborn baby making her way to the bus stop. He loved his spot in the tree, which he sometimes shared with a squirrel that didn’t seem to mind his presence. Being the explorer that he was, he carried a gunny sack to keep the treasures he found, most of which he unearthed with a garden shovel he discovered when he tripped over it, sticking out of the tall grass behind the old garden shed. He didn’t visit the shed often, as it gave him the creeps for some reason.

When he grew tired of sitting in the apple tree, he would pick the best apples to surprise his mom, who would use them to bake his favorite treat: apple pie. Once back on solid ground, he’d venture into the woods surrounding his house. He believed that people from long ago had camped there on their way to new lands, possibly leaving behind treasures he wanted to find.

He took baby steps, careful not to miss anything, slowly digging with his garden shovel until he heard the blade hit stone. Digging faster, he was disappointed to find it was just a rock. He searched beneath the giant pines and along the streams, unaware of the silent company that had joined him—animals like rabbits, foxes, raccoons, and deer, all wondering who he was and what he was doing in their woods.

As dusk settled, it was his signal to go home and share his adventures over supper. After the table was cleared and his mom said it was okay, he opened his gunny sack and took out a small stone to show his family. “This could be an arrowhead,” Dad said, rubbing it in his hand and nodding in approval. Next, he pulled out a rusted handle of something, which Dad guessed might be a tool.

This continued, as one treasure after another came from the sack, each accompanied by the stories and imagination of a young boy’s adventures. He produced a couple of fossils, a pile of chestnuts he claimed were small cannonballs used by tiny warriors, a fork and a spoon, and a piece of wood carved to a sharp point, which he assumed was used for hunting. But he saved the best for last—he carefully removed eight shiny, red apples. “For you, Mom,” he said. “They're from the very top of the apple tree and should make the perfect pie.”

That little boy eventually grew up and no longer climbed that apple tree. Instead, he used a ladder he found in the shed, which still gave him the shivers for reasons he never understood. But it was all worth it when he dumped out eight of the finest apples off the tree and saw the smile on his mom's face as she reached for her pie tins one more time.

Mike 2025