This page, WRITE TO A PICTURE, is an invitation to our regular writers and to our visitors. Send an original poem, a story, or your recollections. Share your thoughts and experiences with those who like to READ what others write. Send to me at LaraOct7@aol.com.

 Early 'Write To A Picture' pages are archived. The links are here:

Beach Scene "1"
Old Train Station "2"
The Carousel "3"
The Fifties "4"
Summer Picnic "5"
From The Heart "6"
Cloudy Moon "7"
September Morn "8"
Passing The Time "9"
Apples "10"


 


Your Title

By Your Name (LaraOct7@aol.com)





Your text goes here.

Apples! Apple trees, eating apples, candy apples, apple cider, apple jelly, apple juice, apple pie, applebutter. Most people like apples and most have their favorite kind of apple. Do you have a favorite kind of apple?

Maybe you've picked apples, and maybe you've owned an apple tree. Have you ever helped to make applebutter? Have you used an apple peeler? I remember my parents making applebutter in the fall. They would buy several bushels of apples and we would peel them. We had an apple-peeler and once we got the hang of it, my brother and I would take turns peeling.

Applebutter takes hours to make and it would have been a terrible waste if we had allowed it to scorch or burn. Someone...often friends in the community who took turns...would stand at the kettle and stir.

I invite you to send a poem, a story, or musings around this week's topic of apples. Fiction or fact, humorous or serious. We look forward to your entry.








 


Our Apple Tree

By Jeanie (Mingo148@aol.com)





WE HAD A BIG OLD APPLE TREE
IN OUR BACKYARD, YOU SEE
TASTY APPLES MOM USED TO BAKE
HER MOST DELICIOUS UPSIDE DOWN APPLE CAKE


APPLE PIES WERE HER BEST IN BAKING
REMEMBERING THEM..MY TONGUE IS ACHING
NOT TOO TART AND NOT TOO SWEET
EVEN HER APPLE SAUCE COULDN'T BE BEAT.


EVENTUALLY ROT TOOK THAT TREE
AND DOWN IT CAME,UNFORTUNATELY
BUT MOM WOULD BUY APPLES FROM THE STORE
AND STILL MAKE CAKES AND PIES GALORE.


I MISS MY MOM AND THE PIES SHE'D BAKE
I CAN'T BAKE LIKE HER, FOR GOODNESS SAKE
THE CRUST FROM SCRATCH IS WHAT I DREAD
SO I USE THE FROZEN KIND INSTEAD.









 


Apples

By Amy (Fabulousfilly@aol.com)





recipes and kitchen stoves
cookies cakes and apple loaves
baking eating slicing, too
and they are so good for you..


apple cakes and pies and jams
i love apples no matter where i am
slice them with salt, or bake them hot
i like apples, believe this or not.









 


Apples

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)





Fall time is apple time, fall time is cider time, but the best part of all, fall time is apple butter making time. Growing up in an area where there were a lot of peach and apple orchards, apples meant fall, apples meant warm days and cool nights. And not too long before Halloween and our night to get even.

The two names of apples that stick in my mind are Starks Delicious and Stamen Winesaps, and what I used to call the old folks apples: the big Yellow apples. Now we have Red Delicious, Fuji, Gala, yada, yada yada. Have the names changed or is or rather has my mind pulled one on me?

Funny as a lad, with all the apples we had around, I would usually pick one up instead of pulling it from the tree. Apples that had dropped were riper and tasted so much better than those from the tree. Shucks, everybody knew that the orchards picked the apples too green to send off to the North and to the stores. The best apple was one which you picked up, carefully wiped off, and made sure there were no worms in it.

Funny, worms in an apple really did not bother you that much as long as you found it and cut it out or ate around it. Tee hee. Wormy apples made better cider some old folks said.

Ah, the fall. We had four large apple trees down in the lot, so I could eat all I wanted. But of course apples from other trees tasted better. He hee.








 


Apples

By Sharon (Sunyskys1943@aol.com)





In the mountains of San Diego California, there is a small quaint looking little town called Julian. Every year at this time, they have what is called Julian Apple Days. The narrow streets are clogged with cars parked along the way, and crowds of people walk. Julian has a shop called Julian Pie Company. It has the best apple pies you can get anywhere. Julian Apple Days is a fun time. Fresh apples are abundant. I remember attending Julian Apple Days, for many years. We often had a picnic in the small park there, and of course we had one of those terrific pies to share. There is a small museum in the park. The buildings of the town are very old, some more than 100 years old. It has modernized the past few years, taking away some of the cuteness of the town. But they still have a horse and buggy you can rent for a tour. There used to be many apple orchards in Julian, but not so many now. This town is totally a tourist attraction. It draws many visitors from all over the world.








 


Apples

By Brier (Brierhillbarbara@aol.com)





Just behind our big old house, my sanctuary as a child, was a wonderful apple tree. Huge, or was I just so small? I would get grandma's big stove salt-shaker and go out and eat green apples and salt, a habit I would love to still be doing. My best friend Jane and I would get into the garden and eat tomatoes and salt too. Many of my young days included the salt-shaker and apples, and my best friend Jane. Jane was the oldest of six and I was an only child. We taught each other a lot. Mostly she was a friend to a lonely child, who grew up much too soon.

That old apple tree gave food and shade and stability to me. I felt as though the tree anchored me to that home place, and for 12 years it did. Despite the apple tree, one day Dad and I moved away to a place he bought, no apple trees there. Nothing like the home place. No grandma and granddad, no childhood memories, they were all gone. Every grounding thing I had was gone for me. I became a stranger in a foreign land. All my life I knew our neighbors, they were my relatives; now I knew no one. Strangers offering me little to nothing, not even an apple. I was permitted to visit my grandmother once, as she was dying. I knew about death, but never expected Gram to go so soon and leave me in the strange place as a stranger.

No more apple tree or garden, no more salt-shaker, no more childhood. Funny how much that apple tree really meant to me, it was planted before I was born. Not far from the apple tree was a grafted cherry tree, sweet cherries that my Granddad had grafted himself. I have been back to see the house and grounds but it doesn't look or feel like my homeplace any more. Now it belongs, along with their memories, to a whole new generation of apple eaters. Someone planted new apple trees and no garden, but pretty flowers. Life changed a lot during those days following WW2. Not just for me, but the world. Victory gardens, close families and apple trees.








 


Apple For The Teacher

By Mary (MusingByMary@aol.com)





A lovely red apple
shiny and bright . . .
in the hands of my teacher
ahhh, such a comforting sight ~


I'd look from my desk
at the smile on her face . . .
our eyes met ~ she knew
'twas my gift for her grace ~


It seemed very little
for the time she spent . . .
teaching me lessons
with such loving intent ~


She taught me my numbers
to write and to read . . .
in her own patient way
encouraged me to succeed ~


I can still her sing
with a voice clear & true . . .
a smile on her face
"Good morning to you" ~


"Good morning to you
"We're all in our places . . .
with bright, shiny faces
and this is the way ~


"To start a new day"
"Let's stand for the pledge . . .
she'd say and we'd rise
for the flag awavin' by the window ledge ~


"God Bless America"
after the pledge we would sing . . .
Oh yes, teacher surely deserved
that shiny, red apple I'd bring!



Mary Carter Mizrany
October 3, 2006









 


Apples

By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)





The way my grandma peeled them,
A long curly strip of skin.
A stab, a twist and the core flew out.
And she'd slice it so very thin.


She was the one who'd ruled the oven.
But let my Mother look idly on.
Pies and strudels, turnovers and tarts,
Just blink and they'd be gone.


My Mom did a fierce chocolate cake.
And cookies of every sort.
But grandma was the apple queen,
And now and then, Sacher Torte.


Two women in a kitchen is not a good idea.
The "War of the Apples" is boldly fought.
Applesauce and baked apples all over the place.
Then my Mom a pumpkin sought.


She attacked that pumpkin like a woman possessed!
The pumpkin chunks flew wide and high.
Grandma stood and stared at this,
"Ach Du Leiber! Who'll eat a pumpkin pie?"


Daddy come home that night, unsuspecting.
He ate his rare roast beef and potatoes,,mashed.
Then here comes the coffee...and OH LORD! Dessert.
I'm sure his life before him flashed.


He ever was the diplomat, a kind gentle man was he.
"Villy, try da Apfelkuchen." "Bill, The pumpkin pie is GREAT!"
I sat there watching the invisible lines being drawn.
But Bless him, he took each and ATE!


In my memory, grandma wears a crown of apples,
And Mom a pumpkin tiara in her hair.
And Dad quietly belches and loosens his belt,
And leans WAY back in his chair.









 


The Red Apple Rest



By Doris (Toto38@aol.com)





My sister, Alice, was in a sanitorium in Otisville, New York, when I was about 10 years old. She was there to rehabilitate from Rheumatic fever and Tuberculosis. Alice was about 18 at that time.

My brother Pete used to drive mom there in his Model T Ford, and this one time I went along for the ride. I remember seeing oh, so many apple orchards! New York State is known for its apples. Otisville is about a 4 hour drive from where we lived in Brooklyn, so there was a pit stop or two to be made along the way : ) One of them was at The Red Apple Rest, near Sloatsburg, I believe. I will never forget that stop.

We didn't have much, so 'eating out' was a special event. Mom bought us hot dogs and fries, and a milk shake...oh, what a treat! but the thing that has stuck in my mind all these years, is the huge red apple on its roof!! At least that's how it looked to me at the time : )

On the way home Pete pulled off the side of the road at an orchard and we were able to gather some wayward apples that landed on the shoulder of the road. (Shades of the Wizard of Oz!) What a nice pick-me-up for the ride home. Pete, Mom and Alice are gone now, but that fun memory will always be with me.








 


The Apple

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)





He took it from her smooth, small hands,
How lovely was this round enticing thing.
Colors astonishing, jewel-like ruby, citron.
Why the strength of his craving!?
Wasn’t he standing in an emerald grove,
Luscious limes, lemons, olives, figs,
Gentle moos, coos, peaceful creatures?
A garden more beautiful than any other.
Then with insurmountable desire,
Filled with gripping fire - he eats!
And nothing was the same again,
Nor ever.









 


The Apple - Mystical, Spiritual and Down to Earth!

By Evelyn (Evenccw@aol.com)





What is it that is one and the same time mystical, spiritual and so totally down to earth? Yes, you guessed it. It’s the APPLE! Adam made us a fallen race by biting into one. Snow White was cast into a deep spell when she bit into a poisoned one. As a youngster I was cautioned not to eat green ones because they could give me the belly ache. To this day I approach a Granny Smith apple with caution and wonder how in the world I can know for sure if it is ripe!

Several lines in a nineteenth century poem, “Jest ‘Fore Christmas” by children’s author Eugene Field exemplify my early experience with apples. (Field also wrote “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod”):

Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake---
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!


In the front of our house, beyond the vegetable garden, was the apple orchard that was already ancient when I was a little girl. The trees, planted by grandfather when he built the house in 1891, had long since passed their prime. Some trunks were rotted and were home to snakes. Some trees found woodpeckers still staking their claims there year after year. In those years harvesting time for apples in the South was August. I have vivid memories of climbing those trees, looking out for snakes, and eating lots and lots of green apples. I never got a bellyache. Then I guess I just lucked out. However, if Mama had caught me, I would surely have been given a dose of castor oil!

In my early years those trees produced apples that we peeled and dried in the sun and put away for the winter. Those dried apples made the best fried apple pies that we carried in our lunch boxes to school. Then one sad day the old orchard was cut down, the stumps removed and the orchard became variously sweet potato, strawberry or corn patches.

The next two lines of Field’s poem conjure up yet another early memory about apples.

'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me,
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!


We didn’t have central heating in that old farm house. On Christmas morning we children would gather together and go into the room where Santa had decorated a Christmas tree. The room would be warm and filled with the aroma of pine. But there was another fragrance. I learned to distinguish the aroma as that of apples. Tucked in the corner under the tree would be a bushel of rosy, ripe, shiny, red apples that Santa had brought from “up North!” Mostly there was a bushel of oranges too, but the apples were the most exciting. Then one year I came across the bushel of apples in a special hiding place.. I didn’t have the heart to tell my parents. I stroked one of the apples, put my hand back in my pocket. I didn’t have the heart to snitch one. I waited for Santa to bring them.

When the family moved from Alabama to Ohio we continued our tradition of preserving for the winter. Only now, we went to orchards and “picked our own” and relished the bounty of what must have been the legacy of Johnny Appleseed as he wended westward in the 1700s and 1800s planting orchards. I was in high school when I first tasted apple cider. It was like the nectar of the gods and a decadent feast when coupled with a Krispy Kreme donut at a campfire weenie roast and sing along.

The sight of an abandoned apple orchard tugs at my heart strings. I tend to wonder what are the secrets tucked in and among those gnarled apple branches that once were heavy with fruit. It hurts me to see these old trees blossom their hearts out in the spring, knowing they won’t have their full potential to bear fruit for sweet apple cider and pies in the fall.

The outings we and our children enjoyed most were when we went “apple picking” in the fall! Not only did our family pick apples, we picked other fruits and vegetables as well, such as strawberries, cherries, blueberries, peaches, green beans and potatoes. They used this phrase about me often: “You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.” True! In 1995 our daughter Maureen Menosky wrote a set of poems saying: “Thank you for the good memories with which these poems are filled.” I share with you the one she wrote about “Apples.”

Precious is the fruit
of God’s good earth.
More precious still–
are its memories




APPLES



Apples were a family affair.
For these we loaded up the station wagon
And headed out together. Happy times.
The orchard was a beckoning playground.
“You kids stay out of the trees!”
The fruit on the branches was heavy.
Apples hung in legions all about us.
I never knew apples came in so
many flavors.
Full of mischief we sampled each tree
Stealing bites from the apples
Leaving cores to dangle mysteriously.
When we headed out kids squeezed in
Between loaded bushel baskets.
The man counts and Dad sighs,
“Good thing he charges by the bushel–
not by the belly!”


And all that we picked–
we ate.
And all that we ate–
became us.


God’s good earth









 


 

 

 



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Roses

Lips

Favors

My September Prayer

Eddie And The Baby Bunny

PassingTheTime(A new entry 1-2-06)




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