I know you were expecting a little romance today, but I lied. Get over it. Maybe tomorrow. Instead you get a story about a sorta sickly looking apple tree. A tree no more than 8 feet high, at best, rooted firmly in front of Grandma C's farm house. FYI-Grandma C., Dolores, Tootie is my Hubby's maternal grandma. A titch of arthritis, a smudge of Parkinson's and just old fashioned growing elder has taken grandma from her farm into town to a nursing home. So back to this little/big tree. It hasn't been trimmed, or watered (outside of mother nature's realm), or worried about and it certainly has not been fertilized in some time. But still this little/big, guy/gal has persevered and produced a bounty of beautiful apples. Weak looking branches hanging heavy and low because of the sweet, red weights attached to its arms. How could we drive by without stopping to collect the perfectly ripened pomme de terres? We couldn't. We picked a paper bag full AND still left the tree with more fruit for the next passerby. What to do with 50 lbs of apples? Stay tuned to see. Thank you Grandma Tootie! 
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