There’s an apple tree in the middle of my parents’ yard that was planted by my Pappy when my mother was young. It leans forward now trying to get out of the shade of the bigger pine trees for a slice of the sunlight. The bark looks rough and tired with tiny holes all over it, but every spring the new leaves appear bringing with them the small apples my mother uses to make her famous apple butter. A smear of that on a homemade warm buttered biscuit makes me feel closer to my grandparents.
I’ve been reading about wild apples and how it’s possible to find a wild apple tree out in the hard forest just about anywhere. I feel kin to the wild apple. It’s small, unique, and bitter as they thrive in the wind, the rain, and the frost. The original “outsider” with a tenacious drive to never give up. There are numerous ways they exist, whether from previously cultivated trees that grew in someone’s yard a long time ago, a discarded core, or from a seed found in animal poop. Wild apples are a particular favorite treat of large animals all the way down to invertebrates: deer, bears, coyotes, rabbits, raccoons, songbirds, butterflies, and ants. That’s just some of the list.
Around mid-spring of each year my sister and I would gather up all the fallen apples into a bucket and have batting practice. I felt like Babe Ruth when I walloped those apples clear over the treetops. Struck out a few times, too. My sister’s a good pitcher. Those were the good ol’ days, and I draw on those experiences now as I am writing about my life.
In the process of writing my first book, I decided to start my own multimedia publishing company, Wild Apple Press. I felt it was important for me to have full creative control as an author, songwriter, and composer. I’m impatient and don’t like the feeling of competing for a spot with a publishing company, so it made the most sense to tend to my own orchard of creative projects with this wild idea. I’m so proud of this accomplishment, and I’m happy to help other aspiring “wild apples” grow their creations. It’s tough out here, but the wild apple is our (my) beacon of independence and enterprise.
So, I roll up my sleeves and dig in under the compost searching for the right words and new tunes I can use for my books and songs.
From the Outside,
Margie
