I may have mentioned in a previous post that our yard is positively rich with fruit trees- we have more than a dozen various trees/bushes, all of which produce fruit. Considering the tiny plot of land we have, it's pretty excellent.
Among the trees, we have two varieties of apples growing, which are starting to ripen now. On Tuesday, all I wanted was an apple. I wanted an apple in that crazy, obsessive way that I have always craved *specific* foods. So, I ventured out into my yard in the heat, and picked two apples. One for me, one for Mom (who was making lunch).
We don't use pesticides in our yard, and other than some homemade compost to supplement the dirt, we don't use any fertilizer. (By "we", I am assuming the royal "we". I don't do any work in the yard, other than the occasional fruit-picking task.) You could consider our fruit organic, I suppose.
Being that we don't use pesticides, our fruit is occasionally does not have the most pristine appearance. It sometimes has been taste tested by a bird, a squirrel, or a worm. For quality control, of course. The trees produce a LOT of fruit, and I am not petty enough to begrudge the local fauna a nibble here and there.
(Don't get Andrew started on the battle with the squirrels for the loquats. Last year, I caught him in the yard hurriedly eating loquats off of the tree, and laughing in triumph at the squirrels whom he had finally bested after two years of not getting a single loquat off of our tree. I don't judge.)
I brought the apples in, washed them in the sink, and took a paring knife to the "pre-tasted" section of each apple, and carved out the tunneling. Nobody poked their head out, so I took my apple to the couch where I fired up The Secret Life of the American Teenager on the TiVo (because there is something deeply, deeply wrong with me), and cheerfully munch away on my apple.
Towards the end of the apple, as I went to take a big bite, I saw movement. As I glanced down, I saw the former occupant of my apple frantically protesting his eviction. In a very wormy way, of course.
I shrieked in a way that is normally reserved for horror movies- when the monster (predictably) jumps out and grabs a character, that shriek. Niki, ever my diligent protector, climbed onto my lap to try to figure out what I had shrieked about. (Fun fact: If I watch a movie that makes me shriek, he'll growl at the TV until I tell him everything is okay. He's a good dog.)
Someone who is more woman than I am would have simply tossed the Very Hungry Ex-Occupant of the apple into the compost and soldiered on, but alas, I am only a weak woman. I can't hunt my own food, and frankly, while I can cope with an ex-creepy crawly on my apple, I don't want food that has been walked all over in front of me. It's a real shortcoming of character on my part, I know.
After assuring Niki that I wasn't in any imminent danger from my apple, I walked it over to the compost bin, worm-and-all, and dropped it in. Since I normally eat everything on the apple (but the stem), I got a strange look from Mom when I tossed what appeared to be a perfectly good couple of bites in the compost bucket.
"There was ... unexpected protein in my apple," I explained. "Still kicking. Eat yours carefully."