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Apple nostalgia

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Spring surrounds us with fragrance. Some strong, some faint.  All sweet, fresh, lingering. For us, the soft scent of apple blossoms smell deeply rich, like home.  The presence of several stately trees in the backyard of our childhood, one just outside our bedroom windows, was something we took for granted most of the year.  But the old photos jog our memories of time spent beneath them.

circa 1982

Thick photo albums show us smiling under the leaves of the apple trees, donning our name-embroidered backpacks, fresh and ready for our first days of school.  The blossoms decorated many Easter celebrations. Birthday parties were held in their shade.  The trees provided yearly harvests into which our mom, stirring the bubbling pot, batched tangy sauce and sweet apple butter.  We enjoyed a tree house in one of the trees and so did the earwigs, who sent us screeching and squealing from the branches.

And the blossoms.  Oh, how they remind us of home.

Their 5 thick petals, with creamy white on the inside and the softest of pinks on the outside.

photos courtesy of Mom

But, this is mostly nostalgia. Our present living climates offer an abbreviated version of this sweetness where some years the apple blossoms get frozen by a late May storm or the sharp wind takes the petals long before we get to enjoy them.

But the nostalgia is rich, sweet, and lingering.

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