The Year Money Grew on Trees (19 page)

I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the sound of the tractor engine and threw off the boxes on top of me.

"Where have you been?" I demanded when Sam and Michael pulled up.

"We went as fast as we could," said Michael, although he didn't sound very convincing.

Piling up the next stack of boxes was exhausting. When we were done, we all made our way to the tractor.

"They'll probably be okay without us watching them," I said, tilting my head toward the remaining boxes.

Over two days we made eight trips and collected 820 boxes, which the girls stacked up pretty neatly considering that there were many different sizes. I kept telling Lisa it was like a pile of money.

My mom came out and looked at the large stack. Next to it were the tractor and wagon, the plow, disc, irrigation barrel, ladders, and all the other equipment we had taken from Mr. Nelson's shed. "This feels like I'm living next to a freight yard. Next thing I know there'll
be an actual train running through here." She thought that sounded clever and so was continually telling me to clean up my "freight yard" after that.

***

Sam, Michael, and I made a trip to General Supply a few days later. We had to buy more Diazinon, and we also bought some rolls of plastic that we used to cover up our boxes in case of rain. "Oh, and, Jimmy," I said as he was adding the poison and plastic to our bill, "I brought back the form for the boxes." I unfolded it and handed it to him.

"Two hundred apple," he said as he looked over the form. "I thought you had like three hundred trees. Is this going to be enough?"

"That should do it. We got some others from another supplier," I replied.

He looked up from the paper. "How much were they?"

"A lot cheaper," I said. "So can we charge those two hundred? And throw in a case of pop." I saw Michael smile out the corner of my eye.

With the boxes in place and the apples hanging fat on the trees, Lisa and Jennifer embraced the idea of selling them. They cut out red letters from some of my mom's sewing material to spell
APPLES
and glued them on a white background, making a kind of banner you could see from a hundred yards away. These type of projects usually produced crooked letters of random sizes, but this time the letters were shockingly straight, and the A was almost the same height as the S.

Amy convinced her dad to push the '68 Chrysler station wagon he had recently given up on out to the road.
This was going to serve as our apple sales headquarters. We would keep the banner inside at night along with any unsold boxes of apples.

"How many thousand dollars are we going to make again?" Amy asked playfully.

I hesitated. "At least a couple thousand each," I replied cheerfully. I thought about Mrs. Nelson's $8,000 and how much we'd have to clear to be left with even $1,000 to divide between the rest of us. "Maybe that's just a best-case scenario, though," I added, not wanting to sound like a total liar.

I took Sam over to Mr. Nelson's shed to look for bags we could use for picking. I remembered seeing in the apple book pictures of people picking with sacks hanging at their sides. In one of the corners, we found two canvas bags that looked like what I was hoping for. They had long straps that fit over your neck so the bag hung at your side. There were metal frames at the tops to keep the bags open and at the bottom little clasps to either close the bags or allow apples to be poured out.

The only thing we needed was ripe apples. They looked the right size and were now more sweet than sour, but I needed an expert opinion as to whether anyone would buy one. The day after the boxes from the dump were stacked, we started watching Brother Brown's orchard to see when he would start picking. Once each day, one of the six of us would walk or ride
a bike down to steal peeks through his rows of trees. We were all supposed to act very casual as we went by so he wouldn't suspect us of spying. August was almost over and we hadn't spotted any action.

It finally became too much for me, and I decided to ask Brother Brown directly. I wasn't going to ask him about prices or customers or anything. I just wanted to know when to start picking, something more in the category of general knowledge than competition.

I picked one green apple and one red apple and put them in a paper sack. I spent a whole hour walking the orchard to find the biggest ones we had. After Sunday school, I took my sack up to the front and displayed the apples to Brother Brown.

"Could you take a look at these?" I began. "Couple of average apples from our trees."

Brother Brown looked down at them. "Where are the stems?" he asked abruptly.

"The stems?" I replied in surprise. "I guess still on the tree. I just pulled these off."

"You never pick an apple without the stem. Goes bad faster," he said gruffly.

I blushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

He grunted in return.

"Can you tell me what kind of apples they are?" I asked, trying to move beyond discussing stems.

He looked at me in disbelief. I turned even redder.
"Golden Delicious," he said, pointing at the green apple, and "Roman Beauty," pointing at the red.

"Roman Beauty," I repeated. "I've never heard of those."

Brother Brown gave another little grunt as if to say he wasn't surprised.

"So, are they ready for picking?" I asked eagerly.

"Nope," he said without hesitation.

"Will you tell me when we can start, then?"

"Yeah, I'll let you know."

That was the end of our conversation, but for the rest of the week, I wished I would have asked him to call or something when it was time. There was only a week left before school started, and it was torture to just sit around during the day. I practiced wearing the picking bag and climbing the ladder to reach the highest apples. We also kept up the watering and spraying, although I figured those activities would be abandoned once we started picking.

***

Brother Brown didn't say anything the next Sunday, and we started back to school without having sold or picked a single apple. As much as I usually hated returning to school, that year it was even worse. I didn't even feel that excited about seeing my friends again. My classes seemed like a waste of time, and everyone around me
acted so young and immature. By my final period, I had to hold myself into my desk. I wanted to jump up and scream, "I've got real work to do!" and run home to the orchard.

It made me angry that my cousins and sisters didn't share my frustration. When we got off the bus, Amy went on and on about how great high school was.

"The lockers are so much bigger than in junior high, and everyone just seems cooler. The teachers aren't as strict either. My English teacher, Mr. Rodrique, he..."

I let her keep babbling without really listening. Lisa had just moved up to sixth grade, and I also had to endure her descriptions of how great that was and how much responsibility the kids were given. I didn't waste my breath correcting her. Plus, I knew I had to stay on her good side.

In the middle of the week, I went into her room after dinner for a serious talk. I tried to make it clear it was serious by closing the door.

"What are you reading?" I began as I sat on her bed.

"Just reading ahead a little in my social studies book," she replied without looking up.

I shifted nervously on the bed. "Are you excited to start getting some of the apples sold?"

"Sure," she said, looking up in suspicion. She could already tell I wanted something. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason. I'm just glad you're so enthusiastic, even making the sign. I just figured you'd be in charge of all the sales and counting the money and stuff."

She closed her book. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking too. I was even planning out a system."

"Then you can definitely be in charge."

She smiled and looked thoughtfully out the window.

"The only thing is," I said reluctantly, "I don't think we have a lot of time to get them all picked and sold."

"Yeah, so?"

"It's just that we're probably going to have to sell on Saturdays and after school. I know that before the summer you didn't like to work after school, but we really, really need you now. And it will only be until we finish picking."

Her mouth sunk into a frown as I was talking. I could tell she was thinking hard, but she didn't say anything.

"I know you're smart enough that you can do any homework during class or at night after it's dark. And just for a few weeks," I added.

"I could keep track of all the money and keep it in my room?" she finally asked.

"Of course, you'd be in charge of it."

She tapped an empty glass jar she had on the little table in her room. "Okay, then," she agreed.

***

On Saturday I convinced myself three different times that I was going to start picking without Brother Brown's clearance. Each time I climbed up the ladder and reached for an apple, I couldn't bring myself to pull it off the branch.

I finally found the courage to pluck six large golden apples and then assembled my cousins and sisters.

"Take a bite. Tell me if they're ready," I demanded.

Sam and Michael attacked their apples until juice ran down their necks. The girls were more delicate, closing their eyes to evaluate every bite.

"Best apple I've ever had," Amy concluded. "Crisp, but not too hard. Just the right amount of sweet."

Everyone else nodded their heads.

"They're not going to get any better, right?" I asked, savoring the apple I'd eaten halfway through.

"They couldn't," replied Sam proudly. "I think we made them perfect."

***

During Sunday school the next day, I kept hoping Brother Brown would make a special announcement about the beginning of the harvest or something. Instead, he just dully droned on about epistles and parables. When it was over, I waited until the other kids had left the room. He didn't even look at me. I kicked my chair in frustration as I got up to leave. Who cared what
he thought? Those apples were ready, and I was picking on Monday. When I reached the door, I heard Brother Brown's voice behind me.

"Better get goin' on those Goldens," he said calmly.

I swung around. "It's time, then?"

"Romes will keep awhile so start with the Goldens."

"Thanks for telling me," I said in a relieved voice. "I kind of thought they were ready. Uh ... how long do we have?"

"Five, six weeks maybe."

"What happens after that?"

"No good for most people. Cows like 'em."

***

I assembled my sisters and cousins that night for a strategy meeting. We had had these before, but there seemed to be an extra importance to this one. It felt to me like we were packing up and leaving home.

"We're going to need a few boxes to take up to the road, so maybe tomorrow we can all help with picking and then start selling on Tuesday," I began when everyone was listening.

"Who's going to be selling and who's going to be picking?" asked Michael.

I looked them all over. "Amy and I will pick using the bags since we're the tallest. I was thinking Lisa and Jennifer would do the selling. We'll probably need more
help with picking, though, so Sam and Michael can you stay out in the orchard?"

"I wanted to sell," complained Michael.

"Why, 'cause you think it'll be easier?" teased Amy.

"No, 'cause I'd be good at it," Michael said, giving Amy a dirty look.

"Don't worry, you'll probably get a chance to. We have a few weeks to go, but we first have to concentrate on picking. And, Sam, maybe you could be in charge of driving the boxes up to the road."

Sam happily agreed and Michael insisted he should ride along to help.

After the plans had been made and the meeting broke up, Amy approached me alone. "This whole thing has been fun and everything," she said while grinning sarcastically, "but how much longer do you expect us to keep working?"

"Brother Brown says we only have a few weeks until the apples are too old, so it can't be longer than that. Why, do you have another job or something?"

"No, but I would like to have a social life now that I'm in high school. That's kind of hard when you're out in the fields working for your cousin all day and night."

"I promise it won't be much longer." I tried to think of more things to say that would be encouraging and inspiring, like how much money she was going to make,
but there was always that possibility of making zero. I couldn't really promise anything, but I needed her to stick with me a little longer.

***

After school on Monday, we hauled boxes out to the orchard, and Amy and I put on the picking bags. I climbed to the top of a ladder and turned around to face everyone. "Okay, it's very important to pick them with the stems still on. Don't just pull. You have to be careful. Everyone but me and Amy will stay low and take their own box and fill it."

There were mumbles of agreement. I turned around and grabbed my first apple. I pulled its stem but discovered it took a kind of twisting motion to get it off the branch. It was definitely harder than just yanking on the bottom of the apple. It took about ten minutes to pick all of them within my reach. I looked over at Amy. She seemed to be naturally twisting and pulling without much effort. I moved my ladder over to hers.

"How's it going?" I called over to her. "Having any trouble with the stems?"

"No, not really," she answered casually.

I continued to watch and tried to imitate her hands. No matter how much I tried, I never seemed to be able to balance like her. I had to constantly grab on to branches to keep from tipping over. After another
ten minutes, my bag was full and pulling me over to one side. I lowered myself carefully down the ladder and walked toward the nearest box. Placing the bag inside, I unclamped the latch at the bottom and let the apples spill out. There was a satisfying rolling and thumping sound as they hit the bottom of the box, which ended up about two-thirds full.

Before going back up the ladder, I walked around to see how the others were doing. Lisa and Jennifer were very carefully removing single apples at a time from the tree and placing them in a box. They were painfully slow but paying attention to their stems.