Monday, November 21, 2011

On "Picking Apples" by Frederick Morgan

In the orchard, my younger siblings and I pick apples. Their names are Lauren, Pete, and Grace, and I am Sarah. We are picking the apples so Mother can make an apple pie for the party we're having on Saturday, for my 13th. birthday. Grace holds an apple and looks over her shoulder when Lauren and Pete call out "Sarah, there's a nice juicy one over here.'' I come over and pluck the apple. Then I place it into my basket. I do the same to several other apples, because Mother requires at least 20, and we only have 4. Lauren's sleeve catches on a twig. I run over and untangle it, and she picks the apple she was trying to reach. We now have 10 apples with 10 more to go. Grace picks an apple up of the ground, and places it in the basket. Pete jumps, and snatches 3 more of a very high up branch. Only 6 to go! "Good jump, Pete," I tell him. At last, 1 apple over 20, we walk to our front door so Mother can make my birthday pie.