The Year Money Grew on Trees

by Aaron Hawkins

  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 wo
rking?"

  "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.

  Michael's box was almost full. I looked through the apples inside.

  "Where are the stems? Not one of them has a stem!" I said very loudly.

  "It's easier to pick them without stems," he said with a shrug.

  "Yeah, I know it's easier, but it's the wrong way! Lisa, remember this box. It's the one that says 'pears.' You should try to sell this first so they don't sit around very long. And please, Michael, pick them with the stems!"

  I looked over at Sam, who had been watching with a guilty look on his face. When I saw his almost-full box, I could see he had a good mix of apples with and without stems. I looked at him, shaking my head.

  "I'll be more careful," he said, looking away.

  "It is kind of hard," I replied. "The girls seem to be better at it."

  We continued working around the first three trees until they were almost cleared of apples. By the time it got dark, we had filled sixteen boxes with Golden Delicious, which had turned from green to a yellow-green color.

  "I'm starving," said Amy, and that was the cue for everyone to stop working.

  I left my bag on a ladder. "I guess that's a pretty good start and we got a lot more boxes per tree than I was expecting. At least you'll have something to sell tomorrow," I said to Lisa.

  "What price are we going to start with, then?" Lisa asked.

  This felt like a very big decision. It all seemed like guessing and hoping. "Let's go with $12 like we talked about and see what happens."

  ***

  On Tuesday we all helped load the sixteen boxes on the wagon and walked alongside as Sam drove the tractor to the road. Lisa unrolled her banners and set them up next to the car, and we arranged a few boxes facing the road with their tops off.

  "Okay, well, this is it," I announced. "We're ready for customers. It kinda feels like we need a drum roll or a ribbon to cut."

  "So good luck, you guys," said Amy, cutting me off. She waved to Lisa and Jennifer, and then started walking toward the orchard. "I'm getting off the road before my friends see me."

  "Just yell if you need anything or have any problems," I said, trailing Amy.

  "So $12, right?" Lisa asked.

  "Yeah," I replied, shrugging.

  Amy, Michael, and I followed the tractor back into the orchard and started picking again. "You sure the girls can handle everything by themselves? I mean Lisa's only eleven, and that could be a lot of money," said Amy.

  I gave her a troubled look. "I'm sure she can keep track of it all. As long as someone doesn't try to steal it," I muttered. It was something else to worry about.

  We kept listening for what might be happening up at the road, straining to hear any cars pulling over. After about thirty minutes, the suspense became too much.

  "Michael, go find out if anyone has stopped and if they've sold anything," said Amy.

  Michael ran off eagerly to check while we waited nervously. I was having even more trouble than usual keeping the apples attached to the stems. In a few minutes, Michael came back breathing hard from running. "Three people stopped, but nobody bought anything."

  No one was sure how to take the news. Was it more important that people were stopping or that no one was buying? "Okay, thanks," I said. "We'll have to send you back every once in a while." Michael ran back and forth about every thirty minutes. On his third trip, he reported the first sale and we all gave a little cheer.

  "Hope it was that pear box," I said, smiling at him.

  The second sale didn't come until a couple of hours later, about the time we decided to pack things up for the night. We drove the tractor back up to the road and greeted Lisa and Jennifer.

  "So how was it?" asked Amy. "We heard you sold two boxes," she said encouragingly.

  "Well, for one thing, we didn't have any change," said Lisa. "We could have probably sold another two or three more if we would have had change."

  "Oh man, I didn't even think about that," I groaned.

  "Yeah, I know," Lisa replied in an irritated voice. "Another thing is that everyone said that someone else was selling them down the road for $8, so we might have to lower our price."

  "How many would you have sold for $8?" asked Amy.

  "Probably a lot more," Lisa answered.

  "Well?" Amy asked, looking over at me.

  It was an easy calculation: charging $8 per box for a thousand boxes would not cover the $8,000 plus expenses. All the money we earned would go straight to Mrs. Nelson, and we'd end up with nothing, not even the orchard. Then again, if no apples sold, we wouldn't even get close. "Let's try $8 tomorrow, then," I said. Since the trees seemed to have produced more apples than I anticipated, if we could just get more boxes, maybe we could push past the $8,000.

  "Did people like the apples, though, when they saw them?" asked Amy.

  "They seemed to," said Lisa. "The Navajos called them white apples, and they wanted to check the box to make sure we didn't put wormy ones at the bottom."

  Fruitland was right across the river from the Navajo Indian reservation, so there were lots of Navajos driving back and forth on Highway 550 in front of our house. They would be a large percentage of our customers, so it was important that they liked the apples.

  "Some people asked for a sample, but I didn't know what to say," Lisa continued.

  "I think you should just give them one and let them try," said Amy.

  I nodded in agreement.

  "Let's try to borrow some money from our parents tonight so we can get change. It sounds like we can sell a lot more with the right price and with change," Amy concluded with a little anticipation in her voice.

  We rolled up the banners and stuck them into the station wagon along with as many apple boxes as would fit. The rest we loaded behind the tr
actor and drove back home.

  My mom agreed to lend us ten $1 bills for Wednesday, and my aunt lent us five more. Before going to bed, I made a sign out of a piece of cardboard that said $8.

  ***

  On Wednesday afternoon business was a lot different. While Amy and I picked, Michael ran back and forth with reports. Within the first hour, four boxes had sold and then six in the next. Sam had to pile more boxes into the wagon and take them up to the road. Amy and I kept guessing as to how many boxes would be sold by the end of the day. At dusk we threw the picking bags on the ladders and walked out to the road.

  Lisa looked flustered but happy. "Today was much better!" she said when she saw us.

  "So how many did you sell?" asked Amy.

  "Twenty!" replied Jennifer.

  "The price made a big difference," said Lisa. "We also started letting people taste an apple and that seemed to convince most of them."

  "Yeah, that's a good idea," I said, thinking of how sweet they were. "They'll sell themselves. Did anyone care that they aren't in apple boxes?"

  "They asked why they weren't, but I don't think it stopped anyone from buying," she replied.

  "I hope you didn't tell anyone we got them from the dump," said Amy.

  "I just said they came from some other fruit growers," said Lisa.

  "If you sell that many every night, we should be done in how long?" asked Amy.

  Lisa's eyes drifted up toward the sky as she calculated. "About fifty days."

  "How many weeks?" asked Amy.

  "Eight if you don't count Sundays," said Lisa.

  Amy looked at me the way my mom usually looked at my dad when he forgot their anniversary.

  "I'll bet we'll sell a lot more on Saturdays," I said, trying to sound positive. I really hoped we would. The clock in my head was beginning to tick too fast. Eight weeks was too long. According to Brother Brown, we maybe had five weeks before the apples were overripe and no one wanted them.