Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Moon of the Green Apples

Full moons always seem so benevolent, as though they are reminding us, in some cozy, long familiar fashion, that all is right with the world. There's one rising over the old chicken coop as I write this.

Sometimes, when I'm outside at night and look up at the moon, I am awed by the thought that it's the same moon that's been seen by everyone who has ever lived in this world, from Lao Tzu and Marcus Aurelius to Galileo and Henry David Thoreau, and of course, Vincent van Gogh. There's something about these celestial events that, no matter how many times I've viewed them in my life, I never grow tired of them. Forty-one years ago tonight, we were probably still reeling from that remarkable and life-altering event of a few days earlier, man walking on the moon.

Late this afternoon, I pushed the wheelbarrow, loaded with debris from time spent cutting back flowers long past their bloom, to a spot near the woods that I've been using for this purpose. For the first time, I really looked around at the trees there. There are two apple trees, previously unknown to me, that have been quietly putting on fruit. Some are already turning red and  a few have either fallen on their own, or been prodded into it by whatever animal is leaving scat under the trees. In copious amounts. It appears to have become a regular hang-out for these apple-loving critters. Deer, I suspect, but am not certain. Thankfully, they aren't able to reach too far up into the branches.

I also have a mini-orchard of four apple trees over by the cabin. Their apples are still quite green, but it seems there will be a bumper crop this year. I took some photos from under the canopy of leaves and with the sun shining through, it created a nice spot to spend a few minutes with my camera.

It was a raggedy little day. I had trouble getting going, followed by trouble keeping any momentum. It was a bit of this and a bit of that. I never got to the greenhouse, which I've been threatening to clean up for the past two days, to no avail. Just before dark, I walked outside as that full moon rose over the trees and watched as it rose higher in the growing night sky. What a beautiful way to close the day.

Turns out, there was more than one happy surprise to this day, there were several, and I'll be turning in tonight filled with gratitude for friends and family, the moon, and little green apples.

The photographs are mine.


  1. What a lovely way to wake up, open the computer and as the first see Teresa Evangelines Garden to which Jack's horses want to go - and then your beautiful words about the forever shining moon and the apples in your garden. Thank you for a good start of my day!
    Grethe `)

  2. There is just no end to the beauty of your new home! And you have put together some beautiful thoughts here, too.

  3. Oh I can see apple pie, apple sauce, apple fritters and much more in your future. By the way deer love apples. Some lovely shots of your trees, such beautiful color on the reddened apples. I can almost taste the flavor of one of those apples in my mouth now.

    Now lets see what is that song the line of which I am humming now "little green apples" - oh Roger Miller and before him someone else I think.

  4. Grethe, I love knowing that as my day closes yours is just beginning in your corner of the world. I enjoy reading about the beauty and the history of it in your writing.

    Jack's post was one of the things I went to bed very grateful for.

    Good friends, far and wide.

    Nancy, thank you for your kind words. I appreciate your taking time from your own busy day to read and comment.

    Linda, I can't stand to see anything go to waste, so the neighbors will have plenty of apples as well. I will have to write about those good people soon.

    Yes, Roger Miller, and many other covers of it, also.

  5. It just seems to me that you live in a natural paradise, Teresa! You couldn't have found a more perfect oasis on which to reside. I've been away for awhile. Life gets in the way, and I felt I needed a good breather away from the blog world after ending Stark Raving Zen. It's good to be back, with you, and your little plot of paradise. Go ahead- bite those apples. ;) Love you girl.


  6. Kristy, I love your new blog. So good to see your beautiful face here again. Life is Good.

  7. How glorious to walk your land and discover such riches! Come fall, you'll have apples to sell at the farmer's market. Plus, think apple butter--yum!

  8. Ms. Sparrow, apple butter sounds delicious. We have a farmer's market here on Friday afternoons. I love going there, seeing what's fresh and new.

  9. We planted an apple tree this spring. It is a beautiful little thing, with no fruit this year. I'll tell it about your trees so it will have something to strive for.

  10. There sure are a lot of surprises at your place. Apples. You really have a beautiful place. I am thinking, what is Teresa going to bring up next about her place? You have a greenhouse? Your photograph of your lawn and garden was just too good to pass up and not make a post out of it. We're basically still dry, but yesterday we received 0.25 inches and the lightening whacked out our repeater up the way (not ours) for most of the day.

    On the momentum thing, I have those several times a day. And, I resolve (?) them like you a little something here, little bit there.

  11. Hi Jack, yes a greenhouse. I will post about it soon. Soon as I get it straightened up a bit... A lot of rain today, pretty much all day. Gardens got a good soaking.

    Thank you again, for your post on my garden. I like thinking about the horses wanting to visit. Very nice image.

  12. Over chicken coop,
    Moon rises amongst the leaves,
    Apples glow for deer.

    (Haiku format I just learned by Googling. Not very good, but my intent is pure.)

  13. Jack, it's wonderful. I love haiku. I found out the apples are glowing for bear, also. My next blog will elucidate. :)

  14. Yes, the same moon for all who have come and gone. The same water, and I would love to include the same air but that would be in error at this point. Still, I often think of this wonderful oneness as well. Love knowing I am still feeling, seeing, drinking and breathing in what my mother did. Lovely images of your fruit laden trees. Magic light.

  15. "Wonderful oneness." Yes, indeed, Chris. Your thought around your mother makes me think of my own in the same way and how great is that?