The Noble Pine dropped a cone almost on top of my palette.
“What’s all this about?” I cried in surprise.
“Just my way of saying ‘Way to go, Ms.! I sure like the reflections and the glitter of the sunlight on the water. Why, I feel ten years younger just looking at them!’”
“Thank you, Noble Pine. You’re a pal.”
The Guardian of the Path had a question.
“Now, what about the pretty bake apples across from me? What I want to know is, Did you ever find out if they have any fragrance?”
“Oh, I’ve got good news! Good news!” I replied. “A friend of mine, who was born in Newfoundland, put my question on her Facebook page. This is the gist of the answers that came in:
“The fact is that it has its own taste and scent that is like no other.
It smells like the BEST thing EVER!”
“Now, don’t that beat all?” declared the Guardian of the Path. “Don’t that beat all!”
“I could have told you that,” said The Old Sentinel with a sniff.
“Then why didn’t you?” chorused all the trees, as they turned on him indignantly.
“I should have spoken up. I’m right sorry, ma’am. I really am. As you know, I’ve watched the bake apples blossom every spring for over 200 years. And the ladies who picked them didn’t put every berry in their basket, you know. I heard them exclaim more than once:
They are tart like a raspberry, but taste more like a . . . . .
dried apricot in berry form
kinda
sorta
but not really.
The trees looked a bit puzzled, and you could almost see them moving their tongues around, trying to figure out just how a bake apple berry tasted.
Changing the subject, Left Pine had a question.
“When are you going to put your John Henry on the painting?”
“Now, don’t get your shirt in a knot,” I said with a chuckle. “That might be next week. Right now I’m bogged down with paperwork, trying to fill out our income tax papers. What a pain. I actually have a bit more touch-up to do on the painting, but, hopefully, you’ll see my John Henry next week. Be thinking about where I should put it, will you?”
“Indeed I shall,” Left Pine said, pleased to be assigned a little task. He wafted some pine scent my way with the gentlest motion of an arm.
