I was being tidy yesterday. Actually, I was looking up, once again, the varieties of my apple trees. I wrote it down in my gardening log years ago, and have looked it up several times in the last few years, as the run of laden trees continues. Wanting to compare the taste of the types, I needed to look up what’s what yet again.
David’s blood pressure machine has been sitting on the bottom shelf of a small table in the kitchen for the last year, the cord to the cuff looping over the folder with my gardening log sheets. As I reached for the folder, holding up the loop and balancing the device so it wouldn’t fall off the back of the shelf, I decided to make room for it in the drawer at the top of the table. One problem — that drawer hasn’t been cleaned out for decades.
There were old maps and menus in the drawer, five dreidels, small plastic bags of metal and rubber parts to long ago gadgets, screws and nuts and a four inch antique nail, a hand forged wedge of steel too beautiful to throw away with the rest of the mess.
And a plastic bag with an unusual assortment. Two banister supports, some screws and a few washers, a bit of old bead twine and three green clay beads. I remember the beads were made by Eric’s first wife, Rene, at least 45 years ago. I don’t know why they were in the bag.
But most surprising was the human tooth, a broken molar. Who put a tooth in this random bag? Whose tooth is it? Eric’s? On the assumption it is, I’m going to put it with the baby teeth of Adrienne and Sam that I still have in a box on my bureau. Is that weird?
I found the log sheet with the varieties of apples. The trees were planted in 1992, thin sticks now over fifteen feet tall and so full they shade the north side of the yard and one of my garden beds. This year the trees have enough fruit to feed us all winter if we had the ambition to store it. Working west to east, Northern Spy, Cortland, Macoun, Golden Delicious, Baldwin. Nourishing Courtship Makes Good Babies.
Ah, babies. . . .