Home was once surrounded by orchards, full of old apple trees that had been there long before me and maybe even my dad. They carried a certain degree of mystery, almost like walking into a secret world, when you ventured through the gate. At times, in the early summer it was a world full of darkness as the canopy of leaves and branches from neighbouring trees intermingled and blocked out the sunlight and the grass and nettles wrong the trees and in the passageways between them, grew to a height that made it almost impossible to walk through the orchard, except along the tracks left by the sprayer. Then, as the harvest time grew closer, a tractor and mower would arrive and an hour or two later, the whole place was a joy to behold, still dark but with grass no longer than the average lawn. Yet it still held a certain mystery and apprehension to a young child, not knowing what was hiding on the other side of a thick tree trunk,for the area was well known as the haunt of badgers, foxes and the odd imaginary over sized hound! Little did I know at the time, that such creatures felt more fear than I did. Most orchards are planted on a slope to help rain run off, but until you view some of the slopes from the height of a tractor seat, it's difficult to realise how steep some orchards actually can be. Many times I mowed the orchards around our house, ever watchful for the branches that suddenly appeared in front, just about neck level and the sudden drops or steep banks that often remained concealed beneath long grass.
There were great advantages in having an orchard close by, especially in the late summer and approaching autumn when the Bramleys were just perfect for cooking apple tarts and some of our uncles and aunts often seemed to be able to find an excuse to visit around this time, knowing that before they left for home, dad would have filled a small cardboard box or a couple of plastic bags with theses huge cooking apples, enough to last the whole of the winter. It was also a great place for hide and seek with the cousins when there was a distinct home advantage in such games. Also there is no greater feeling than crunching through the autumn leaves that form a brown and orange carpet or ambling across a snow or ice covered terrain sheltered by an umbrella of glistening, icy branches, frozen in time.
But it wasn't all good. Every time the sprayer arrived, mum had to bring in her clothes from the washing line as the fine mist often strayed from the adjacent orchard and settled on anything in its flight path. Thus windows often had a thin film of liquid on the outside which made them less than transparent. Also, because the orchard entrance required the machinery to pass through our yard, the concrete surface was invariably covered by two continuous tracks of muck and grass that once had its home beneath the trees. And of course since it almost always rained continuously during harvest season, more dirt than at other times seemed to end up on our yard.
Like any other enterprise, the orchard required continual attention, with winter pruning, weed killing, hedge cutting, spraying, grass cutting and replacing old trees all necessary chores. But you always knew when it was getting close to apple picking time for the farmer would arrive with a trailer full of ladders and buckets with special hooks and then a whole load of apple boxes, placed at strategic points throughout the orchard. Then the 'pullers' would arrive with their biscuit boxes full of sustenance and would plague mum at various times during the day to fill a flask with boiling water. Many of them had taken holidays from their main job, while others had 'signed off' for a few weeks to spend every daylight hour in the orchard, but a few took the risk of working while still drawing their dole money. I remember one day, when there was a raid by the dole office to catch those who were two timing and one of the raiders ordered my dad down off the ladder where he was pulling. Imagine his embarrassment and shock when he discovered that dad owned the orchard. I wasn't there just at that moment, but knowing dad, I'm sure the guy left with his tail firmly between his legs and his ears warmed.
But then came the day when the trees grew old, they began to produce less fruit, some died, the farmer made less money and because they were no longer of any use, he pulled them out. It reminds me of the parable Jesus told about the vine that had brought forth no fruit for three years and which the owner wanted to cut down. But his worker said, 'Sir,leave it alone for one more year, and I'll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.' You know we all grow older and in our comfort zones there is a tendency to take it easy, to think that we've done it all and deserve a rest, but the truth is, that is when we start to produce less fruit for God. He may not cut us down, more likely he will give us another opportunity to be fruitful in His orchard.
And remember this, the big, old trees in the orchard may produce less fruit than they once did, but they usually still produce more than the young trees.
