Ridin’
the range in search of that elusive…
Red Delicious
Back when I
was a psych. intern, I had a discussion with a coworker who knew everything
and was never afraid to show it. Somehow we landed on the topic of “folks who
grow apples.”
That’s when
I said something like, “Yadda yadda yadda… apple farmers.”
“Ranchers,”
he interrupted.
“Excuse
me?”
“They are
apple ranchers, not farmers,” he said with the authority of someone
who grew up in Wenatchee, Washington — AKA the center of the apple lovin’
universe.
“You've got
to be kidding.”
He was not.
In fact, he looked at me like he couldn't believe that I’d managed to live so
long, given my obvious brain impairment.
Well,
growing up as an East Coaster, I was always under the impression that ranching
usually involved a whole lot of ridin’ and ropin’ and such. Then again, I
had never been to a real live apple harvest — it was quite possible that those Galas and Ida Reds were a lot feistier than I’d ever imagined.
But I’m
open-minded about these things, so whenever my know-it-all friend was around, I
went above and beyond when speaking of those “folks who grow apples” …
Yep, they
were apple jolly ranchers from then
on.
‘Cause I’m
pretty sure they were all really
happy that I no longer called them farmers.
PROMPT: There are two ways to go with this
one. First off, we've got the annoying know-it-all who is always a fun
character to work with (On the page. Real life? Not so much). Then there’s the
topsy-turvy world of ranching. I mean, if you can ranch apples, you can ranch
anything — poodles, turnips, penguins, pens…
Hmmm.... that would be a good book. "Fernie the an Apple Rancher"
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