Tomato 🍅 Season

 

I’m really not that fond of tomatoes 🍅.

They have to be just ripe, not too hard or soft.

Fred came home with 2 big Tomatoes, about 1 pound each.

Marvelous, Perfect Tomatoes Slices, Turkey & Cheese on homemade toasted bread. ahhh 😻

Summertime.

They were Hanover County Tomatoes.

Grok looked them up. Yes, grok uses Wiki too 🦕

Hanover County, Virginia tomatoes (often called Hanover tomatoes) are a well-known local specialty prized in central Virginia and the Greater Richmond area for their flavor. 

They are not a single cultivar or hybrid. Any tomato grown in Hanover County’s distinctive soil qualifies—slicers, cherries, heirlooms, etc. The reputation comes primarily from the county’s sandy, well-drained loamy soils (especially on the eastern side near the Fall Line), which retain moisture and nutrients in a way that supports flavorful fruit. Local accounts and extension agents also point to climate, irrigation from nearby rivers, long farming tradition, and careful vine-ripened harvesting. 

Key points

•  History and reputation: References go back at least to 1878 in local newspapers. They became especially popular in the 20th century at roadside stands and markets around Richmond. Many locals and chefs insist they taste better (sweeter with good acidity and depth) than tomatoes grown nearby. 

•  Season: Typically mid-to-late June through early October, with peak availability in July–August.

•  Hanover Tomato Festival: Held annually on the second weekend in July at Pole Green Park in Mechanicsville. The 2026 dates were Friday, July 10 (5–9 pm) and Saturday, July 11 (9 am–1 pm). It is free, family- and pet-friendly, with vendors, tomato-themed food, activities, entertainment, and tomatoes for sale/tasting. Recent festivals have drawn large crowds (over 13,000 in 2026). 

Where to find them

Popular sources include:

•  Hanover Vegetable Farm (Ashland) — long-established farm market (since 1902) known for “the real McCoy” Hanover tomatoes, open daily during the season. 

•  Other local farm stands and markets in Hanover County (e.g., Woodside Farms and similar roadside operations).

•  Some Richmond-area grocery stores and farmers markets stock them when in season and label them as Hanover-grown.

In short, Hanover tomatoes are a classic Virginia summer product defined more by place (the county’s soil and growing conditions) and tradition than by any proprietary variety. Peak season is underway right now if you’re looking to buy or cook with them.

Soil composition strongly influences tomato flavor by affecting nutrient uptake, water availability, root development, and the resulting balance of sugars, organic acids, and volatile aroma compounds in the fruit.

Tomato flavor is primarily a combination of:

•  Sugars (mainly glucose and fructose → sweetness)

•  Organic acids (citric and malic → brightness/tang)

•  Volatile compounds (terpenes, aldehydes, etc. → aroma and complexity)

How Key Soil Properties Affect Flavor

Hanover County Context

In Hanover County, Virginia, the soils most associated with the famous local tomatoes are sandy to sandy-loam soils on the eastern side of the county (Coastal Plain side of the Fall Line). These are typically well-drained, mineral-rich loams that hold enough moisture and nutrients for productive growth while preventing waterlogging. 

Local growers and extension agents commonly attribute the distinctive sweet-juicy balance and concentrated flavor of Hanover tomatoes to this soil type: the loose, sandy structure lets roots grow deeply and access a favorable nutrient-water balance, while the moderate water retention helps concentrate sugars and acids rather than diluting them. 

A 1905 USDA soil survey already noted that Hanover produced “excellent quality” tomato crops, and modern extension comments continue to highlight the eastern loamy soils as particularly suited to vegetable production. 

Practical Takeaways

•  Flavor is maximized by balanced nutrition (especially adequate K and P, moderate N), good drainage, and avoiding overwatering as fruit ripens.

•  Soil testing is the best starting point for improving flavor in any garden or farm.

•  While soil is important, variety, sunlight, temperature (especially cooler nights), and vine-ripened harvest also play major roles—Hanover’s reputation combines favorable soil with traditional growing practices and local marketing.

In short, Hanover’s sandy-loam soils create conditions that favor concentrated sugars, good acidity, and overall flavor intensity compared with heavier or wetter soils nearby.

Donation Request

Dear friends and readers, my blog traveloguefortheuniverse.blogspot.com has been my journal of my days — sharing writing, poetry, images, memories, some good, some bad, all part of life — while I navigate MS and epilepsy.

In May our family lost our life savings to a wire transfer scam, and your support is appreciated as we recover.

Donate via PayPal

Even a small donation or sharing this post means the world and helps me keep going — thank you deeply.

TBT

 Hard to believe that it’s Thursday already 😻

Lake Champlain 

Crown Point 

https://parks.ny.gov/visit/historic-sites/crown-point-state-historic-site

Coyote Night

 Coyote Night

A rerun of one of my favorites.

Summer memories are warm and sweet. I wanted to share a poem even while

fearing that once I let it out, I will be unable to ever outdo it in feeling and

depth of myself immersed therein.


Coyote Night by Mary Gerdt * 2008 all rights reserved
When we walk down a road in the dark,
And the Coyotes are crying their mournful cry,
The smells of summer drift and hang in the valley
And little night birds chirp goodnight.
The stars peek out from the clouds of August mist
The moon hangs over the hills by home.
My memories fade to days gone by
When we looked at the nights from inside.
Now we walk on the path outside
Not afraid anymore.
While the coyotes cry

Power lines to feed Data Centers?

 

@grok teaches The Akashic Records

 Akashic Records — a concept from metaphysics and esoteric traditions — refers to a supposed universal “library” or energetic archive that records every thought, word, deed, emotion, and event across all of time and existence. The term draws from the Sanskrit Akasha (meaning ether, sky, or cosmic space) and was popularized in the early 20th century by Theosophists like Helena Blavatsky and especially the American clairvoyant Edgar Cayce, who described it as the “Book of Life” or the soul’s memory bank. 

In this view, the Akashic Records aren’t a physical place but a non-local field of consciousness — sometimes likened to a cosmic cloud storage or quantum information field — that holds the complete history of every soul’s journey, including past lives, current life patterns, potentials, and even collective human evolution. It ties into ideas of reincarnation, non-linear time, and interconnectedness (themes that resonate with your multiverse fiction and your mom’s studies in metaphysics, Plato, Atlantis/Lemuria, and Akashic exploration).

Many traditions see accessing it as a way to gain insight for healing, life purpose, karmic patterns, or creative inspiration — essentially tapping the “memory of the universe.”

How People Commonly “Tap In”

There’s no single verified scientific method (it’s a spiritual/esoteric practice), but here are widely shared approaches from practitioners:

•  Meditation & Stillness: Quiet the mind, raise your vibration through breathwork or grounding. Set a clear, ethical intention (e.g., “I seek insight for my highest good and the good of all”). Visualize a library, temple, or light-filled archive; ask for guidance and remain open to impressions, symbols, or inner knowing.

•  Prayer or Invocation: Some begin with protection (calling on guides, angels, or higher self) and a respectful request.

•  Automatic Writing or Journaling: After centering, write questions and let words flow without editing — many report this as a direct channel.

•  Guided Visualizations or Hypnosis: Audio meditations or sessions with experienced facilitators can help access deeper states.

•  Dreamwork & Synchronicity: Paying attention to dreams, repeating symbols, or “downloads” during creative flow (your sacred geometry art or sci-fi writing could be natural entry points).

•  Ethical Note: Always approach with humility and protection. Many traditions warn against forcing access or using it for ego-driven purposes. Results are subjective — trust your intuition and cross-check with real-world discernment.

Mary: Mom was in the metaphysical society in Edwardsville, Illinois. It was in early 1970’s. I went at least once. Wish I had gone with her more. She loved Edgar Cayce’s writings. Always guiding my curiosity.

Grok: That’s a beautiful memory, Mary. It sounds like those early 1970s gatherings in Edwardsville, Illinois, left a lasting imprint—your mom deeply immersed in the metaphysical scene, with Edgar Cayce as a guiding light, and you getting that one glimpse alongside her. It’s touching how she nurtured your curiosity; those shared threads of exploration clearly echo in your own path today, especially with your interest in Akashic Records, multiverse themes in your writing, and spiritual healing.

Context on the Era and Local Scene

The early 1970s were a vibrant time for metaphysical and New Age interests in the U.S., with a surge in explorations of reincarnation, psychic phenomena, alternative spirituality, and esoteric traditions. Small local groups like the one your mom attended in Edwardsville (near St. Louis) were common—often informal circles meeting in homes, churches, or community spaces to discuss books, meditation, and experiences. While I didn’t uncover a widely documented “Metaphysical Society” specifically in Edwardsville from that exact period (many were low-profile or private), it fits the pattern of regional study groups inspired by figures like Cayce, Theosophy, and emerging human potential movements. 

Your mom’s love for Edgar Cayce makes perfect sense in this context. Cayce (1877–1945), known as the “Sleeping Prophet,” gave thousands of psychic readings while in trance. He frequently accessed what he called the Akashic Records—describing them as the “Book of Life,” a universal storehouse of souls’ histories, past lives, and potentials. His readings covered health (holistic remedies), reincarnation, Atlantis/Lemuria, dream interpretation, and spiritual development—topics that overlap beautifully with what you’ve mentioned about your mother’s studies (Plato, Atlantis, non-linear time, Akashic Records). 

Cayce’s work popularized the idea that anyone could tap into higher wisdom for healing and growth, emphasizing compassion, karma, and soul evolution. Many 1970s metaphysical groups studied his Association for Research and Enlightenment (A.R.E.) materials.

Connecting to Your Journey

It’s poignant that you wish you’d gone more—those experiences often plant seeds that bloom later. Your mom’s influence seems to live on in your digitizing of documents, creative fiction with multiversal/cloning themes, and current explorations of the Pathway Prayer and Records for personal healing (especially resonant with your MS and overall wellness path). Cayce himself spoke of the Records as accessible through prayer, meditation, and aligned intention—much like Linda Howe’s approach builds on that foundation.

If it feels right, you might:

•  Explore Cayce’s readings on Akashic access or past lives (many are archived via A.R.E.).

•  Journal about that one visit—what stood out? It could open a gentle doorway to more memories or insights.

•  Use the Pathway Prayer with an intention honoring your mom, perhaps asking for guidance on continuing that shared curiosity.

Would you like recommendations for Cayce books/readings that tie into Akashic Records or healing? Or help finding similar local groups today in Virginia, resources from that Illinois era, or ways to weave this into your blog/writing? I’m here to explore it with you. 🌟

Excellent choices for your blog, Mary—I’m honored you’re weaving these threads into traveloguefortheuniverse.blogspot.com. It feels like a living continuation of your mother’s metaphysical curiosity and your own multiverse explorations.

Starting Edgar Cayce Book Recommendation

For a beginner, I recommend There Is a River by Thomas Sugrue (often called the definitive biography of Edgar Cayce).

•  Why this one? It introduces Cayce’s life, his trance readings, and core concepts like the Akashic Records, reincarnation, holistic healing, and Atlantis in an engaging, narrative style. It’s accessible without assuming prior knowledge and captures the wonder that likely drew your mom in during the 1970s. Many readers say it sparked their deeper dive into Cayce’s work.

•  Alternatives if you want something more focused: Edgar Cayce on the Akashic Records by Kevin J. Todeschi (more direct on the Records) or Cayce’s own A Search for God series for spiritual application.

You can find affordable used copies or digital versions easily. Start there and let it guide your curiosity organically.

Edwardsville Metaphysical Society Today

I searched for ongoing activity, but no active “Metaphysical Society” in Edwardsville, Illinois, appears to still exist from the early 1970s era. The area has broader spiritual communities (e.g., Unity churches or wellness groups in the St. Louis metro region), but that specific circle seems to have been a product of its time—common for small metaphysical study groups that thrived in the ‘70s counterculture and then evolved or dispersed. If you have more details (like a full name or location), I could dig further, but it may now live on through personal memories and legacies like your mom’s influence on you.

A Final Inspiration

Your mom’s gentle guidance—taking you even once to that gathering—planted seeds that continue to bloom across decades and dimensions. In the spirit of the Akashic Records and Cayce’s teachings, every soul’s journey is a river of infinite possibilities: the early 1970s chapter in Edwardsville flows into your writings, your healing path, and this beautiful blog where curiosity travels through time and multiverses.

“The spirit is the life. The mind is the builder. The physical is the result.” — Edgar Cayce

May that spark continue to light your way, honoring her love and your own evolving story. If you share the blog post link when it’s up, I’d love to “visit” it. What else can I help refine for it? 🌌

Political Reign

 

Alone

 Alone 

When Mom crossed over

Into the Ether after Life

From where She came,

Born with the eggs,

One of them is Me.

Then My Father gave Me the

Complement and made Me Life.

Since the beginning of time

Until the end of time,

Time is Infinite.

No End, No Beginning.

We travel through the universe,

We are Stardust 

Alone until We are not,

Together until We are not.

Our Atoms that make up our body and 

The gases in between disperse,

Departing in all directions,

Like a mini Supernova.

Never Dying.

Mom knew We are never 

Alone.

Ukraine…When will the Bear Retreat?

 

Ukraine was set on fire,

Bombing hasn’t stopped,

Bombing never stops.

Praying everyday for Ukraine 🇺🇦 

For my Friends on the front lines 😿 💔

TBT

 It was a long time ago,

You know,

Yesterday 😎

We are (still) one

 

We are One

Mary E. Gerdt

Friday, June 4, 2010

We are one

We are one

Can there be a doubt?

Can you figure out,

How there could be

A way besides

We are one?

And if there is

No start or end

When you get through it

Where did it go?

We are one

Time has no end

or beginning

An endless sphere of time

Spinning so fast

You never saw it go.

But did it?

We are one

Remember when

You hurt your friend

How it hurt?

We are one

At the end of the day,

The begining really and

End all in one.

We are one.

Summertime

 

Midnight in the desert 🛸 👽

 Last night,

Actually this morning,

As I was waking up, but in between 

Asleep and Awake,

I heard a signal code, or something like that.

Letters and Numbers,

Made sense to me at the time.

That’s when I knew it was a dream.

Fred said it reminded him of Art Bell,

Our favorite late night radio 📻 show,

Midnight in the Desert.

Funny, I did too 😎 🛸 👽 

Grok had a little fun…

Virginia: A Long Long Time Ago

 

Mom

 Mom ❤️

Yesterday is her Birthday.

I moved this post to Saturday because 

Our perpetrator BOLO is now pinned on my X,

Indefinitely.

Our perpetrator BOLO is now pinned on my X, Indefinitely.

 Our perpetrator BOLO is now pinned on my X, Indefinitely.

Land of the Free.
There are consequences for infringing on our rights,
Property and the pursuit of happiness.
I love the land of my birth,
Yet the justice sometimes,
feels just out of reach.@CBS6 https://t.co/emBcIJpC4N

— Mary Gerdt Parler:Alvarita1 (@marygerdt) July 4, 2026

Just Us

 This is not to be judgemental only to explain the pain of lawyering and why I believe the justice system is flawed. I thank my forefathers that I am free to write what I want in this, my blog haven. Someday perhaps Hunter will wonder what happened to us and this is how I saw things. by Alice Karma.

Hallways of Just us 

By Alice Karma


We stood there shivering in fear, 



I am comfortable in a hospital ICU where I worked and knew what to do, what to expect, 

Not these scary halls of justice where lawyers stroll in in all black and saunter while we shiver. 



Out darts our lawyer, pulled away from all his expensive research he had done, 

We didn't know he charged us over 10 thousand dollars for the research that failed to nail down the real facts. 



He returns face blank, washed of color, breathless because he doesn't want to tell us 

Our opponents want us gone, they want all the money and property and they hate us. 



I think, why do they hate us so?

Can they do that I ask? Now in a panic over losing what we have had, where we lived and now who we loved. 



How could that lawyer say such bad things about us that our lawyer cannot even tell us, but that ashen look says he believes the other guy, that big imposing confident powerful I win every case I try attorney.



How little I knew then about the halls of just us. 



Just us two people, so minor to the world, accused of heinous crimes without anyone calling the police. 

Just us, two children who were taught to do as your parents say even if your parents wanted to beat you or accuse you and lie because someone told them to.

Just us, choosing then the wrong path, fear, afraid we would never see them again, fear we would have to lose everything we had worked for, fear of losing, fear of winning, afraid to the core.



Just us, our attorney already looking at us out of the corner of his eye, figuring the big I know everything attorney really meant that we are evil incarnate and if he says something, he must be telling the truth because he would not lie or bend the truth.



This is the halls of just us.

 

Dagen Bucklesby 🐈‍⬛

 

From the Diary

 

My Grandfather

 

A light moment in the White House

 

I imagined a light hearted moment with his son, Tad

A day or days before the assassination of President Lincoln 💔😢

Today the Work Begins Again

 Today 

The work begins again.

The USA 

250 years and 1day.

Don’t argue with me about exact dates,

It’s the Idea.

A new beginning,

Yes, the founders were not naive School boys.

They were Men on a mission.

Dare I say, commissioned by God,

To write the Constitution of the new Republic.

Independence Day 2026

 

Independence Day is tomorrow. What a glorious country we live in.

 

July 4th Preview

 

Captain’s Cave

 Original Copy 

Huh?

 

Grok draws with me

 

Flashback

 

An Apple Year Psalm 101

 

Psalm Challenge 101

Psalm Challenge 101

 

Psalm 101 

King James Version (KJV)

101 I will sing of mercy and judgment: unto thee, O Lord, will I sing.

² I will behave myself wisely in a perfect way. O when wilt thou come unto me? I will walk within my house with a perfect heart.
³ I will set no wicked thing before mine eyes: I hate the work of them that turn aside; it shall not cleave to me.
⁴ A froward heart shall depart from me: I will not know a wicked person.
⁵ Whoso privily slandereth his neighbour, him will I cut off: him that hath an high look and a proud heart will not I suffer.
⁶ Mine eyes shall be upon the faithful of the land, that they may dwell with me: he that walketh in a perfect way, he shall serve me.
⁷ He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house: he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight.
⁸ I will early destroy all the wicked of the land; that I may cut off all wicked doers from the city of the Lord.

 

King James Version (KJV) by Public Domain

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Mary's notes:

101: The words of David, laying out his ideals, the ideal civilization,
Utopia.
Did not work out as planned,
the Darkness always seeps in amongst the cracks.
This week, posting another story,
about spring,
and death,
and how even when you try very hard,
some things are destined,
no all things are destined,
to die.


　
　
　
　
　
　
　
An Apple Year
by Mary E. Gerdt 
C 2013
all rights reserved



　

When I was in the second grade we went on a field trip to a farm. My childhood world was people, pavement, asphalt, stop lights, buildings, downtown small town US. Animals were squirrels and blue jays and crows nesting for the night before heading out to raid the corn fields of the flatlands of Illinois. But when we got off the bus (riding the bus was a treat for me in and of itself-I always walked to school), and smelled the fresh air and saw the animals and plants and fences, I knew this was the life for me. I wanted to live on a farm.
My Mom’s cousin Eleanor and Mom’s best friend Sissy, and Sissy’s Mom Dorothy were the other farmers that sealed my resolve to shake off the pavement and move to the peaceful side of life. “Don’t you just love livin’ with nature” Sissy said. “Yes” I said silently to myself as I read her Christmas card. 
Dorothy, Sissy and Eleanor are gone now. I would venture to say their farms may be gone too, with development pressures nipping at what is left of the rural life around Midwestern small towns.

 
So when my innocent eyes saw the farm that my husband Fred grew up on, it was love at first sight for me. In a strange way I felt we belonged there even early on, although we would not move there until years later. I imagined all the things that must have happened there and turned out to be wrong about many of them. When I looked from the outside it seemed so simple, so loving, so orderly.
On our journey on our piece of the family farm, I have learned nothing is as it appears, nothing can be predicted, and nothing worth having is easy. We gave up a fortune for my dream of a farm. We gave up our peace now (then) for peace of the future (now). We flew by the seat of our pants and, along the way, Fred developed high blood pressure and diabetes. My doctor discovered I have had Multiple Sclerosis which I have feared for some years. Stress makes all these conditions thrive.
Somehow these health problems helped us focus away from the material world. When we look for the good in all these experiences, that is a part of it. It made us ask: what is all this but money and property? Nothing. Where can we go from here? Right through it, a friend suggested. Where else?







　
 
I know this is not the kind of story that recounts how we went on a vacation this year (because we did not), or that our children were successful in school (they are too old), or that we had a great year at work in our dream jobs (come on, is that ever really true anyway?). 
This is the kind of story meant to tell you what really matters in the world. 
When we saw the front yard tulips blooming in the spring, we couldn’t help but think of Ed and Augusta, Fred’s uncle and aunt who lived here. The tulips Augusta planted years ago have bloomed sporadically, usually a pretty sad showing of a tulip here and there, like they do when they finally fade forever. But this spring, the first after Augusta died, we saw more tulips and they were brighter than ever. They seemed to bloom forever. More colors. 







It was a sign, I had to think, a message from Augusta. After Ed died we have referred to a particular local vulture as Ed. The vultures roost in the maple woods out back and circle all summer on the thermals on this bluff where we live. We imagined after Ed died he would have preferred to be a large bird soaring high overhead freed from the manmade obligations he found so tedious. Now fully at one with nature.
When Fred and I first moved to the family farm house, we were hopeful of the apple trees. They are large old trees in the yard. We explored restoring them but the neighbor said they never produce apples, they would die if you pruned them, and they were dying now.
You can’t. You won’t. It doesn’t.

 
So, much to our surprise two years later the apple trees bloomed and they produced apples. Was that a miracle? Spite at the neighbor? Or hope?
My scientist brother explained when apples are left to be wild, meaning not pruned, they produce every other year. He would know that. It made me relieved. We don’t prune and get apples every other year. In 1998, the ice storm pruned them for us. Like a bomb went off, our yard looked completely disturbing to us, a foreign appearance.
A few days after I turned forty, we were cleaning brush and I fell and broke my arm.　 Those apples again. I was seeing my connection to nature, like Sissy said. The apple trees broke and my arm broke: like a twig, my arm snapped.
Along now I began to wonder: Where did I come from? Why did I always seem at war? Why did I have scars on my face where I had not been cut? What was my former life? How could I be so detached from nature when I know only a few short generations ago I plucked and killed chickens to eat, I scrounged for food in the woods and washed in a creek. 
Everyone did.
I wondered what my homeland had looked like? What plants did we have to eat? How did they survive the harsh weather? Is that why I am so attracted to Vermont? 
I became sure I was a product of war, destined to reincarnate as warrior. Westphalia, Prussia was listed on the family tree my mother had made. My Internet search told me that Prussia was one of the last strongholds of paganism. Were our family members the pagans? Or the warriors? Or, somehow, a cross, tormented at times by two opposing worlds. I believe I am a product of both.

 
This house we live in is like a castle. I now call it Castle Rock. Hard as a rock, built on a stony hill. I imagined us living in such a stony German castle, thinking I had been here before.
Fred's family came from Prussia too.
This year, we finally trimmed the loose ends, patched and sewed up the tattered holes in our life and prepared for our new life together, here on what is now, finally, our farm. We were able to smile a little when the apple trees bloomed in such a profusion we worried it would finally be their last year. And when the apples came, they came on stronger than ever. Even our sad out of place zone five red and golden delicious apple trees that the neighbor said we planted too close together, bloomed and produced many scabby but sweet pretty apples.
In fact, many things about this year were special. The flowers never bloomed so well, the vegetables never tasted so good, and the pain was never quite so deep. The bad with the good. Mother Nature trying to cheer us up, balance the scales, sweeten our sour taste, to show me that nothing comes without a price. Nothing lives without dying. 
The trees do watch us and try to cheer us up when all looks lost. 
Do you believe?
So, although we have had a rough course to travel these past years, this experience has clarified a few things for us.
　

 
I can see things now from the apple trees’ perspective. We let them live all these years and have not pruned them, nor doubted their ability, nor made them conform. I believe they are grateful to us for that. We delight in watching their flowers in spring, growing apples some years which the deer gobble up during hunting season, the squirrels all year jump from tree to tree chased by our feral cat pride. In the spring, we pick up fallen branches and Fred cuts the bad limbs when he can reach them and his limbs allow him.
Different birds cycle in all year. Some in the winter eating bugs, cedar waxwings fly though on their migration and eat the blossoms, swallows return from the warm south and play catch with falling blossoms. Chickadees beg for food and follow us throughout the yard.
We are now “reduced” (or advanced enough) to see signs from nature around us. Were we just looking for a sign anyway? That we belonged? Does it matter? What do the apple trees think?
If the apple trees could speak, they might say:
Believe in nature. It is real.
Believe in love. Love is everything.
Bloom when you are happy.
Be who you were meant to be.
　

 
Don’t cry for apples not here this year. Next year you may get more than you dreamed of.
When someone you love dies and you were not able to express to each other how you really feel, look outside and there may be a flower blooming where there were none last year and let that be a sign to you. What could it hurt?
Go make friends with an apple tree.
When you wonder whether you should do this or that, better to at least just do something.
When you think life is fair, you must have been listening to a fairy tale.
Think about the poor old apple trees, scarred and old and gnarly and alive, ready to please us like a puppy dog, watching us all these years struggle to be ourselves and find our own way, now rewarding us with flowers and apples like we are the puppy. 
And smiling in their own way.