I love green apples. I am specifically talking about unripe apples, not apples that remain green after they are ripe. Don’t get me wrong, as far as eating apples are concerned I think Granny Smiths are the best. But there is something about those sour unripe apples that appeal to me.
When I was a small kid we lived in a Columbus neighborhood near Ohio State University, on the west side of the Olentangy River. The back yards in this neighborhood seemed to me to alternate the kind of trees that had been planted. One next door neighbor had cottonwood trees, we had maple trees, the other neighbor had apple trees, then cottonwoods again. I am not sure if there was a pattern. I don’t remember if any other back yards had apple trees or not. What did I care? The yard next to ours had apples, why go looking any further?
My big brother Lloyd was crazier about green apples than I was. I could blame him for the neighbor yelling at me for being in his yard, but the truth is that I would have climbed the fence to get those apples even without Lloyd’s encouragement. I would only grab two apples, maybe three, anytime I climbed over the fence. It wasn’t a daily occurrence either. I don’t know why the neighbor yelled at me. It’s not like a six year old, especially one at tiny as I was, could pick very many apples. Well, there was that one time that we ate so many that we both had bad stomach aches.
There are I times I still can’t resist. Just a few minutes ago I was mowing the lawn, and one particular apple was just at the right spot when I was mowing around our apple tree. It almost picked itself. And since it was off the tree, I figured I’d polish it up and see how much red was starting to show. And since it was all shiny and clean, I figured I’d go ahead and eat it. Sure hope I don’t get a stomach ache.
It sure tasted good.