Orchardwords

Selections From Journey to the Middle Meadow

Journey to the Middle Meadow begins when Frank discovers that the stories his grandfather once wrote about Orchard Walkers might not be fiction at all. Cautioned by his grandfather, but challenged by a dream, it’s soon Frank’s quest to return to the Middle Meadow and undo something long broken. Along the way, walking through what might be considered a nature journal, Frank comes to understand his grandfather’s passion for farming, and orchard life.
Below are a few excerpts.

The orchard was like many apple orchards. Each kind of apple was planted in sections called ‘blocks’ and all the trees were in straight lines so you could drive a tractor through without hitting any trees. From their car at the top of the hill, the different blocks of trees all had slightly different shades of green leaves and it made the farm look like it was covered with a green blanket with little squares of color.
“I love the rows and colors,” Mom said. “This is probably my favorite spot.”
“I have to agree.” Dad said as he scanned the hills with his eyes. “And don’t forget guys,” he said as he pointed off to the distance. “Stay off of Old Rusty.”
At the mention of Old Rusty, both boys turned their heads. Back beyond the main part of the orchard stood a single tree alone on a hill. They called the tree Old Rusty because it grew yellow rusty looking apples.
“Dad,” Adam asked. “Tell me again what kind of apples came from Old Rusty?”
“Roxbury Russets.” Came the answer. Then he said, “that tree has been here longer than Grandpa.”
“We know, dad.” Frank said. “You tell us every time.”

Even though Grandpa got a head start running back to the house, the boy’s parents got to the house just as Grandpa reached the front stairs. The old man’s first stop after racing up the front stairs was the writing room; and he went straight to the bookshelf.
“Please be there,” he muttered under his breath. But it was not. He looked at the shelf for the Meadow Twig and small grass pack. He pushed aside some books and papers but saw that it was gone. He spun around when he heard footsteps coming into his room. He was hoping it was the boys.
“Dad,” Mom had a really worried look on her face. “Are the boys in here with you?”
The old man dropped down into the rocking chair shaking his head. Dad reached for the old-fashioned phone on the table and said to his father-in-law, “Albert, I’m calling the police.”
“Wait,” Grandpa hoped this couldn’t be happening. “I think I know where they are. This can’t be happening, I mean, everything will be fine but…”.