October 16, X57
Dear Ma and Pa,
I've been on the road for a few days and practicing my city language writing. I figured that the city folk would not take a country mare like me seriously at the negotiating table otherwise. Sadly I've got a few inflections that I can't seem to shake off, I swear if I ever have a daughter or granddaughter that girl will get some good city learning. Preferably when she's young, and still able to quickly pick on them little terms and tics we country folk can't. Of course for that to happen I've got to find me a stallion, maybe a lovely one from Maresburg who is willin to come out to the homestead with me. I know what ya'll are thinking, but I've never been one for those traditional type country stallions.
Hopefully when I get back from visiting the Crabapples I'll have a stud on my hoof and a deal in my saddlebags. You raised me right Ma and Pa, I'll be using that journal you got me in town to record everything that happens.
I promise to not hug no rotten apple,
Granny 'Grand' Smith Apple.
October 16, X57 9:00pm
Well hello there diary, it's mighty fine to meet you. This is my first entry, so I hope you'll take to my penmanship kindly. My name is Granny "Grand" Smith Apple, and I've spent most of the day with my Maresburg relatives the Crabapples. I sent a letter explaining some thoughts off earlier to my Ma and Pa on the farm. So instead of repeating myself I'll tell you what I experienced with mah relatives today.
I was shocked to find out the Crabapples don't own their own farm. Instead they participate in something they call share cropping and "seasonal labor", where they work a small portion of a field for a well off pony family in exchange for crops and bits. I ain't quite sure why any self respecting Apple family member would ever do such a thing, but I suppose that considering the limited amount of farming land in Maresburg it makes some sense.
They also live in a tiny little space they call a tenement apartment in the Coreington Hay area. It's got leaks in the roof and cracks in the window panes. No sound proofing or insulation means a single wind sounds like a bellows on forge day. And the fights from next door sound like they are taking place in their home instead. The place doesn't smell right either, like something died and was left to rot. They keep their food in a pantry but ain't got no ice box, and their furniture is really just repurposed crates and an old worn rickety table in the center of the room.
I know ahm not supposed to judge but the worst is thier sleeping arrangements. It's not a bed nor a sleeping pad, but a pile of ratty mold rotten blankets that seem to have little black dots moving on em. I think they might be fleas or some kind of bed bugs infesting the nest, because I can't rightly call it anything else. It's no place fit for a pony to live, let alone an Apple or relative of ours. Now diary my family ain't rich by any means, but we have always had decent living conditions and a good clean bed to sleep on after a hard days work. The sight of what the Crabapples live in is enough to bring tears to a misers face.
That ain't even the worst part though, ah lied about that. Their cooking space is right terrifying. The open top fire pit is barely enclosed by ancient stone, and there ain't no proper stove. They just prepare everything on them crates they seem to use for just about everything. It scares me cause that wood in the crates they use is tinder dry. All it would take is one false move and the place would go up in flames,
The family as a whole sure doesn't resemble us that much, not physically at least.
Dunbar Crabapple is the patriarch of the clan, he's got a muddy orange red coat with a green mane and dull brown eyes. He's very lean, not much muscle on his wirey frame. Apparently he's the night watchman and temporary acting night manager of the Mare and Friends Confectionary Factory. When I showed up he was right ready to explode with happiness over his temporary position. Apparently if he performed well he was finally looking at a real promotion. Though it kind of disturbs me that he looks like a stallion twice his age, I'm happy for him. His cutie mark is an old wizened crabapple with a green leaf on its stem.
Sweet Crabapple is the matriarch and doting mother of the family, her cutie mark is a white crabapple blossom. She's far too thin, with a tired look in her otherwise lovely candy pink eyes. She's got more age lines than she should, according to her it's a combination of working extra jobs and making do without food in lean times. She has sacrificed everything she can for her younguns. Her mane is a yellow green on the most beautiful pink coat I have ever seen. She looks like a flower in bloom as she walks to and fro in the kitchen preparing the supper for us all. Her jobs are something she chats about with me as she works, a grace in her movements I can't ever hope to match.
Apparently she works as a washer mare, a maid at a nearby tavern, and of all things a foal sitter. She says she'd much rather be working with foals than in the Frosting factory all day. Or as she calls it, the Fragrant Fool. Apparently there have been multiple accidents in the factory over the years, including her mother being crushed to death under a vat of pink frosting. According to Sweet, only fools and the desperate work at the factory on the floor.
Sadly it seems she married a right fool, when I mentioned that she snorted saying that her Dunbar ain't no fool. When I asked why Sweet just told me that her husband has never worked on the floor, and never will. As foreman he's more an overseer of the production line and construction of new vats. According to her if it weren't for the factory owners taking a good percentage of his pay for an imaginary pension fund, they wouldn't be living in this run down hovel that costs far more than it's worth. When I asked where she thinks the money goes, she laughed and just made a comment about it lining already silver pockets with gold.
Eventually Sweet had to focus on dinner, and though I like her; I know when a mother and a mare needs to be left alone to work. Thankfully I got to meet her little ones as a result. They are the sweetest little things I've ever seen, if a bit on the thin side, but I know Sweet does what she can for em.
The oldest is about fourteen and works as a gutter cleaner and news colt. He says he had an older brother, but he got hit by a carriage and taken off to the hospice where poor ponies don't come back from. The poor colts name is Toringo Crabapple, and he says his dream is to be in the guard. When I asked why, the adorable teen said it's because he wants to make sure that all ponies are kept safe; not just the rich and powerful who already have private guards. He's a honorable little colt, with his dark leaf green mane and tail, deep green eyes, and yellow green coat. He almost looks more like a lime than an apple, but that Apple family spirit shines through in the lad. His mark shows that his dream might come true, you wouldn't believe it unless you saw it yourself. It's a guards helmet from the side with a crabapple that matches his mane on it.
His younger siblings number about three, two fillies and one baby foal. The fillies are apparently twins, named Oregon and Pacific Crabapple. They are two of a kind with pale pink bodies and yellow, red, and yellow green striped manes and tails. Matching bright yellow eyes always look about for new things in the dingy tenement. Their cutie marks are a red crabapple on a branch, and a yellow crabapple in a blossom. Both of them are about eight years old and already working. Oregon helps the neighbors with cleaning food for extra bits, and Pacific sings on the street for bits. No she isn't a "working mare or filly", she literally just sings. On Oregon's off days she joins in with a dance or jig, those two are just a right adorable pair.
When I ask them what they wanted to do when they grow up, they both agree they want to be explorers. To go places and collect specimens for museums and the like, these two have great dreams they do. It's sad that without schooling such things are unlikely, maybe the Oranges could help. It's worth a shot to ask next time I see them.
The little foal colt is named Yunnan Crabapple, though the family just calls him Midget. He's got the largest hooves I've ever seen on a foal, and looks like he'll be an unusually large draft earthpony when he gets older. He's got the most unusual coat pattern though, it's red with light white dappling all over his body. His mane and tail are a light pink, almost white color. So far all he does is crawl around the nest he is in, which is incredible progress for a five month old foal. There is a brilliance in his eyes diary, I hope Dunbar gets to keep his promotion. Because Midget is a colt that will need to go to university one day, I just know in my bones he's something special.
Last of the Crabapples is Sargent, the eldest who would be nineteen by now. Apparently he had a solid white coat and golden hazel mane. His eyes were a stunning light pink, almost white. He wasn't an albino either, the photo on the wall they have set in a frame made of wood from the rubbish bins shows that he was a stunner. Apparently he got hit by a carriage when he was ten years old and Toringo was five.
He'd been chasing after a can he and his brother had been playing with when it rolled into Stallsworth street. He'd gone after it with no sign of danger till a large travel carriage had come barreling around the corner. According to Toringo, Sargent was blind sided and flew into the gutter. His head was apparently swelling mighty bad, and he had cuts all over him from debris knocked up by the wheels.
The streets had been filled with ponies, and one called a nurse down from the Poor Mares Clinic. The poor girl had only had to glance at poor Sargent lying there before she asked the carriage driver to take him to a hospice at an address Toringo didn't recognize. He said it sounded like the "Dreamers Salvation" hospice, but apparently it didn't really exist. The nurse had hauled his older brother into the carriage, before shaking hands with a well to do couple within who made room for him.
They never heard of or saw Sargent again after that carriage took off down Stallsworth street. The nurse who'd sent him to the hospice disappeared too shortly afterwards. The Crabapples couldn't find him no matter how hard they tried, eventually they had to give up and hope he was alive somewhere.
Toringo said that his brother didn't have his cutie mark yet, so finding him was impossible. I feel sad for the young colt, and all the Crabapples. I suppose I'll just have to hope that Sargent survived his injury and they find him one day.
Anyway, the dinner was sparse but delicious. Crabapple chutney on hay and oats with home made fresh squeezed crabapple juice. It's a might tarter than our Apples, but the fruits taste delicious all the same. That's how I knew they were really family, only an Apple relative can make fruit grow that tastes that good.
After dinner Dunbar had to head out to work. He gave me some papers, said if anything happened to give them to a Writ Proof. I'm not sure why he'd do such a thing, but a Sweet said it's for protection. In case the worst happens in the factory.
Apparently Dunbar is really worried due to some new storage vats, they are called SuperSweets. The things are gargantuan and can hold hundreds of thousands of gallons of frosting a piece. They've been drawing a lot of attention, with multiple well off folks coming to visit and gawk at them. But Dunbar, he's worried about their structural integrity. He says the size increases the risk of catastrophic failure, and that the papers are his notes and research into issues him and others in the factory have found.
The vats apparently have been blamed for odd noises, like hissing and creaking but louder. Some claim they have seen bits of frosting on the floor by the vats, and signs if hastily patched leaks and cracks. I can see why the stallion would be worried, but he went to work all the same.
I spent the rest of the night with Sweet and the kids, reading stories and sharing family histories. It's amazing how like us they are once you get to know them diary. Sweet even asked if I could take Midget with me when I head home, I told her I'd ask my ma and pa after negotiations with the Market Street Coalition. The mare seemed oddly relieved, and smiled saying she was happy somepony could give her beloved son the chance he deserved.
I'm guessing she saw what I saw, though I can't make no promises I agree with Sweet. Yunnan "Midget" Crabapple stands a better chance of getting proper teaching with the main family of Apples than if he stays in this tenement hovel. I drew some pictures of everything I've seen here in the back of you diary, and though I'd love to continue writing I'm right tired. It's been a long day, and Sweet has the loveliest singing voice. She's apparently where Oregon and Pacific got their talents from, I'll try to write her song down before I pass out.
"Oh lovely blossoms, apples of my eye,
Close your lovely eyes, while I sing my lullaby.
Hold to your wishes, hooves on your dreams,
We can rise above, the poverty we see.
Oh my lovely blossoms, apples of my eye;
Don't fear your tears, Crabapples can cry.
Hold onto memories, happiness and pain,
Mommy will always be here, to make it better again."
It's so beautiful diary, such a wonderful song. Sweet has the voice of an angel diary, ain't never heard anything like it. It's like a audible gentle hand carrying me off to dreamland. I think I'll just rest here on this spot I've chosen to write to you diary. Midget' cradle is right by me. I'll be his guardian angel tonight...
Granny "Grand" Smith Apple..