Orchard

For creative writing class. Our final.

          “The deal is done after you sign here, here, and on the next page right here.” I pulled the piece of shining glass out of my pocket, and admired it in my palm. The reflection gazing back at me urged me onwards to pen my name and sell my soul. My bulky hand clasped the realtor’s pen and wrote Andrew E. Daniels.

          “Very well, Mr. Daniels, here is the deed to your new house.” She handed me the deed and the key to the front door. “I’ll send some guys over from the office to take down the sign for you.”

          “Oh, no, that’s alright. I can take the sign down for you today and return it tomorrow on my way back into town. Thank you, anyway.” Setting the key onto the table, I ran my fingertips over the red granite countertop, gazing out the kitchen window facing the open water. “If you want, you can take an apple from the bowl on the table.”

          The realtor giggled. “Out of all things, why would you bring a bowl of apples and not your bed, Mr. Daniels?”

          Home stood erect on the very foundation of my great grandparent’s love. The seed of our family began on the very property I was born. My great grandpa Earl cut him some trees and built himself a home and a family on the 30 acre land. By the time I was just a lad, Earl was just a picture on the wall, but his principles lived on through my pa. Pa always knelt at mama’s bedside when she was ill, and helped her take care of us kids. He would always help her in the orchard, too. Pa was speeding to the hospital when Mama was in labor with my little brother, and the police stopped him and he said, “’Cuse me, officer, but I gotta get this ‘ere pretty lady to the doc. Now, if you ‘ill ‘cuse us kindly, officer, we gotta go ‘fore the baby comes out.” That’s when he sped off down the road and mama gave birth two hours later.

          That ol’ apple orchard grew into the very heart of my mama. She spent hours of her dear life out there in the hot sun wearing her straw sun hat with a red ribbon wrapped around the top. She’d bring her basket and walk around picking apples until the sun set in that orange haze of light. The next day she’d bake apple pies, apple cake, and apple dumplings. Apples, apples, apples.

          “Well, you see, I’m planning on growing an apple orchard, ma’am.” I grinned real wide. Her reply, “Good luck, Mr. Daniels,” and she left with a smile.

          Looking out the window, towers of timber rose mockingly at me beyond the grassy clearing. A few birds tweeted beautiful songs. Pa said they sang about the trees and the grass and the sun. Mama put out bird feeders all around the house and a few scattered in the orchard. She adored the birds, especially the golden finch. Mama would sit out on the porch, just like the one on this house, and watch the birds sing their songs on the feeder right on the wood railing.

          I walked out onto my porch, imagining a hanging array of feeders all around it. Then, I looked out farther and pictured the grove of apple trees I’d plant myself. I smiled eagerly. This house is picturesque, a very beautiful sight in the backwoods in quiet and seclusion. Four years later from moving out and into the world, I had bought my first house that reminded me of home.

Reviews

[Daydreamer54]

AW, I love it! It had great imagery and the way he sooke reminded me of hhow someone from the couhtry would talk like. Great write! ^^