Up over the hill behind our house, on land owned by our nearest neighbor, Les Page, was an old apple orchard that had been planted by his great grandfather. No one had bothered with the orchard for a long time and by the time we were growing up a lot of the trees were already dead or dying. During apple season, us Stevens' kids used to pull commando raids on that apple orchard every chance we got.

It's not like we were deprived of apples or anything like that. It's just that this orchard was forbidden by dad and it was the place that drew us most of all. If we really were hungering for apples, all we had to do was walk across the dirt road in front of our house and help ourselves to Mr. Beaulier's orchard. Or walk through the potato fields a couple of miles in any direction and there were Uncle Hal's apples free for the taking. But it wasn't the same as sneaking up through Uncle Hal's potato fields, crossing the stone wall and on to Les' orchard.

Once we'd reached the stone wall boundary, we'd drop down on our bellies and crawl across his untended potato fields until we reached the concealing grass of his orchard. We'd always go to one particular tree, the Golden Delicious because it had the most wonderful apples that we'd ever eaten. The apples on this particular tree had a smell that was beyond description. If the wind was just right, blowing from the north, you could smell the ripe apples all the way to our house. If you picked one of these apples and rubbed it on your hands, your hand had an aroma that was somewhere between vanilla and cinnamon and the smell made your mouth water. The apples were crisp and juicy with stripes of pink in the creamy flesh.

My two older brothers, Walt and Jake, would slip off their long sleeved shirts and tie knots in the ends of the sleeves. Then, they'd button up the front and tie a knot in the bottom of the shirt tail. They'd drop the delicious apples through the neck opening until they had as much as they could carry and we'd crawl back across the potato fields and head for home with our treasures.

Sometimes, we'd have a close call when Les would drive down through the back of his property to check on his blight infested potatoes. At that time, he had a large black dog that always rode on the back of his pickup and we were really scared of that dog. Dad had told us that once he'd stopped by to have a beer with Les and that dog had come tearing out of the house and had nearly taken a chunk out of his leg. He also said that old Les was a pretty mean shot with a gun and dad warned us that we'd better stay away from that orchard if we knew what was good for us.

Walt and Jake loved to sit on the porch at home and tell of what a close call they'd had with the dog the last time they'd gone to steal the apples. Walt said that he wasn't too worried about being shot because old Les was always so drunk, he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn at ten feet. But the dog was another story.

This particular day was a day that Walt and Jake would remember forever. The wind had brought the scent of the ripening apples into their bedroom early that morning and the boys couldn't wait to get their hands on some.

As soon as mother had taken her eyes off them, Walt and Jake snuck off through the tall grass behind our house and watched from the rock wall that divided Uncle Hal's land from Les' property. Les' hired hand had been cultivating his potatoes in the field that surrounded the orchard since early in the morning and they waited until he headed home for lunch. Then they hopped over the rocks and ran for the orchard as if their life depended on it, and it did. Unbeknownst to the boys, the dog, Tucker, had been resting in the tall grass of the orchard while the hired man rode the John Deere tractor up and down the rows as he cultivated the potatoes.

When Walt and Jake came flying through the tall grass, they'd practically fallen on top of the dog. Tucker came awake with a snort and a snarl and Walt and Jake stood frozen to the spot. The dog pulled his upper lip back over his large, white teeth, growled deep in his throat and pawed the ground with his front feet. His eyes rolled back until only the whites showed and he began to drool out of the side of his mouth.

Walt, who was a cross country runner and also a basketball player, was in much better physical shape than Jake. He reached over his head, grabbed a branch and swung himself up into the tree as quick as could be, leaving Jake to fend for himself. The huge dog looked up at Walt sitting on the branch and then back at Jake who was still frozen in place. Walt grabbed an apple and threw it as hard as he could at the dog. The apple hit the dog just above the left eye and he let out a howl of pain and backed away from Jake. This was all the opportunity Jake needed and as he later said, "My mother didn't raise no fools." Jake ran for the tree and scrambled up the trunk and he didn't stop until he was well past Walt and safely near the top.

The day wore on and the dog kept circling the tree and growling up at them. Walt and Jake clung to the tree and ate one apple after another. Every now and then Walt would throw another apple at the dog.

Finally, Walt looked up at Jake who was about three feet higher up and said, "You know, this ain't lookin good. We might jist have to spend the night here." Jake looked down at Walt and then at the dog that was still circling the tree and said. "I don't think I can hold on that long and I'm gettin real sick of apples! En besides, my belly is beginnin to ache and you know what that means." Walt turned his head aside with the sudden vision of what Jake was tryin to tell him. Thoughts of what might come hurtling down on him from Jake's vantage point, slid thru Walt's mind and he didn't like any of them.

Walt continued to pelt the dog with apples every time he got a chance and just as the sun was slidin towards Garfield, the dog finally gave up and headed for home. It took Walt a long time to convince Jake that the dog was really gone and that they could get down out of the tree. They stopped just long enough to relieve themselves in the tall grass and then they filled their shirts with apples and beat it across the fields for home.

The next night, as dad helped himself to another piece of mother's delicious apple pie, he took a big bite, chewed it for a couple of seconds and then he said, "Boy, this pie is good! I think you've outdone yourself this time mum." He looked slowly around the table and the faces turned towards him and then he said, "I sure hope these apples didn't come from Les Page's orchard." Hearin this, the boys stopped eatin and looked sideways at mother. Mum, hearin dad's comment, didn't look at him at all and she kept right on chewing but there was a tiny little smile at the corner of her mouth.

Copyright (1st Rights) retained by the author, Martha Stevens-David. She can be reached at lmdmsd@megalink.net.