Camille Pissarro (1830-1903) - Apple Harvest, Éragny, 1888, oil on canvas, Dallas Museum of Art
I have a rare morning to myself. The weather is cooler today, the flies are not invading my home at the moment, and I’m sipping earl grey tea with oat milk and honey. I am beginning to think of sweaters, slippers and crafting, a few of my favorite Fall things. A friend gave me a couple of her acorn squash which are going to beautify our family table for now. Eventually we will roast them along with other contributions we have pulled from our church gleaner’s basket. The gleaner’s tradition started in our second year as a church plant. Gardens tend to grow very well in this fertile soil, and many have an abundance of produce. Sharing it with each other is a fun tradition and keeps us mindful in providing for others. At the beginning of each potato harvest, one of our church families brings bags of russet and yellow potatoes from their farm for everyone in our church. When there is a harvest, there is rejoicing.
When we moved into our house a few years ago, we were pleased to find a small, old apple tree. However, it looked tired, and we assumed it must be a leftover fruit tree that had run its course in some long-forgotten era of an orchard on this property. Perhaps we would keep it just for looks, for a little needed shade, and a climbing space. In that first summer, we found a bird’s nest in the tree. With many kittens being born the following spring, the birds must have found a new home to build a nest, perhaps higher up in our blue spruce.
I didn’t know how to take care of an apple tree. There were a few apples here and there, but they had holes and we threw them to the chickens. That year, I naively pruned the tree right back, in fact, right to the stubs. There were only about a dozen apples that year. "It must be old,” we assumed. But it gave a place of respite from the sun and was a good starting point for our garden. We would keep it, even if just for its beauty.
I didn’t prune it at all this past Spring. We were busy and tired, and besides, it was a tired, old tree. “It’s probably stopped producing,” we would say, accepting its fate based on our presumptions. As the spring and summer months continued their course through the calendar year, we saw little green apples growing on our poor old tree, a lot of them! I was thankful that we could at least use them for the chickens. It would save us money on buying chicken feed. The apples grew larger and more plenteous, and whenever I stopped to observe them, I was struck by how many were growing on the tree! “What is happening here?” I’d muse. In mid-summer, the middle to lower branches started to bend over from the abundance. And then, the apples started to drop! But, low and behold, they were actually delicious. Again, I was pleasantly and curiously surprised. But should I be? Someone at some time had planted a seed. We were pruning it as seemed good enough to us. We were cultivating a living thing. Why was I so surprised that something good had been produced?
Our apple tree, 2023
My first plan was to give all the apples to the chickens. We had not sprayed the tree with bug-defying chemicals, so most had at least some effects of other creatures trying to partake. But some of them were quite perfect. Soon after, I decided to do something with these apples, something for us humans. All in all, we gathered an estimate of probably one thousand apples from our vibrant and life-giving tree! One Saturday morning, we all contributed to the gathering, collecting, picking and pruning. My youngest was up in the branches, pulling at hard to reach apples, and reciting lines from the classic audiobook of Winnie the Pooh. Where there is a harvest, there is rejoicing.
As we worked, the line from the song A Thousand Shores by Leslie Jordan played through my mind:“You give and You give, and still there is more…” It struck my heart with the love and generous provision of our Maker, our King Jesus. It was a living picture of His abundant love, overflowing grace, and joyful willingness to provide.
A couple of ladies from church came and helped me process this abundance of apples. In four hours of work, we made 3 pots of apple sauce. On a different day, I made 2 other pots of apple sauce. Later, I made an apple pie at the request of my pie-loving son, and apple chips in my dehydrator. I was able to give away a few bags of apples as well. When I think of all the people these apples have blessed, I smile knowing God grew those apples for us, for them, for their families and little ones. This apple tree brought beauty, a small patch of shade, a respite from the scorching summer sun, a place to hang a hammock, a playground to climb, as well as nourishing us and our friends, providing conversation, laughter, and time to build relationship around good and hearty work.
The song I share with you this September is Your Labor is Not in Vain, a song for workers, a song for the planters and harvesters, the arborists, the gatherers, and the gleaners. Our God is with us, and even apple-picking is not in vain in His fruitful Kingdom!
“The vineyards you plant will bear fruit
the fields will sing out and rejoice with the truth,
for all that is old will at last be made new:
the vineyards you plant will bear fruit.”
Your Labor is Not in Vain, written by Wendell Kimbrough, Paul Zach, and Isaac Wardell
