Apple Bloom’s first order of business after the initial scouting run of the premises was to meet and greet any ponies she already knew, which in this case was a mare from Dodge. A yellowish mare with a red mane that was done up with a hairband so as to show off the dark and light hues of her ‘do, to be exact. She also had a fan stashed in her hairband, most likely for show, as Vanhoover wasn’t anywhere near as hot as Dodge Junction.
“Howdie, Miss Jubilee!”
The mare turned with a start and gasped, before spotting the badge. “Apple Bloom, howdie. Didn’t think I’d be seeing an Apple here today. Shouldn’t you be in Appleloosa, cheering your sister on?” She spoke with a Southern drawl that put even the Apple family’s accent to shame, with the ‘awe’s and ‘eye’s in her A-sounds and that strange habit of preferring words with lots of syllables where a single-syllable word would suffice.
“Big Mac and Granny Smith are on it. Grand Pear wanted me to see the Court this year, so he kinda sent me out to scout. And I could ask you the same thing. Ain’t like you to miss a rodeo.”
Cherry Jubilee sighed and cranked up the drawl in her voice for dramatic effect. “I do admit, it’s never easy to skip a big event, but the Food Court’s more important. You never know what you find here. Speakin’ of which, how do you like my arena? Your sister went through this thing like wind through the cornfield when she tried it.”
Apple Bloom looked left and right. Aside from a few spikes stuck in flowerpots and some stacks of hay, it had all the appearance of an animal pen lacking any occupants. “It’s a lot smaller than any rodeo I’ve seen. And empty, if you don’t me sayin’ so.”
“It’s always a little empty at first, when nopony’s brave enough to put on a show, or risk embarrassing themselves. But it’s a fine way of figuring out where the good workers are come bucking season. And of course it’s small: I can hardly drag a whole rodeo here, can I? It’s still close enough to the real thing to give ponies a taste of the real stuff. Here, I’ll show you.” She led Apple Bloom to the makeshift yard and pointed to the little spikes planted into flowerpots. “First there’s the horseshoe toss, to test a pony’s accuracy and how well they can husband their strength. Bucking trees takes some level of finesse, as I’m sure you know, and the horseshoe toss is one of the oldest ways of training that. It’s also nice in case of emergency: there’s not a pest in Equestria that’ll keep eatin’ your crops after a little iron to the noggin’. Of course, some of them do have a proclivity towards then turning to the pony that owns the crops...”
Apple Bloom cringed at the thought.
“Anyway, that’s up first because it’d be too hard to do if your muscles are already worn out. And they will get a little worn out from the haybale drag.” Turning around, she gestured to the pile of rope and the stack hay bales set up nearby.
“What’s the rope for?” Apple Bloom pointed to the lassos laying about.
“To lasso the hay bales, of course. You have to get them down standing right here in this circle.” Miss Jubilee patted the red mark on the ground.
By Apple Bloom’s estimation, that was about four paces away, three for a grown-up. “And what’s that good for?”
“Earth pony tradition, hun.” Jubilee winked. “Roads and carts weren’t always as reliable as they are today. Being able to rope your supplies out of a ditch is a handy skill for an Earth pony, especially one living in the rockier areas of Equestria. Plus, it saves time, if your swing is good. Lastly, there’s the stacking. That one’s purely a test of endurance and strength.”
Apple Bloom nodded, before the obvious objection formed in her head. “Except if you use magic, you mean. If a Unicorn wanted to try it.”
“Hmm, fair point. But they usually don’t try these things, and they have other ways of measuring themselves and each other. But I’m not about to tell a Unicorn farmer how to do things, as long as they get the results.”
Apple Bloom pondered the matter. She had the opportunity, and a need for information, no reason not to ask. “Are there any? Unicorn farmers, I mean.”
“Oh, there’s…” Miss Jubilee thought for a moment, looked away, then shook her head. “Well, no, I suppose there aren’t, not exactly. Conservationists, yes, plenty of those are Unicorns. Pest control, a few of the specialised ones are Unicorns, and very capable and charmin’ fellows they are, I might add. But farmers? Honest to goodness farmers? Don’t think I know of any, no. But then, I don’t reckon I know many Pegasus farmers, either. It’s about a bushel of Pegasi, I’d say, but no Unicorns, no. Why do you ask?”
Apple Bloom scrunched her nose. “Somethin’ bugging me, is all. Suppose, hypothetically, a Unicorn wanted to be a farmer. Would that be weird? They’re wizards by default, aren’t they? Or scholars, at least?”
“Oh, yes, it’s in their blood. I’ve been around a few mixed families in my day, you cannot get the scholar and wizard out of them even if you try, at least for three generations. And if it ain’t magic, then it’s some other silly thing most ponies never think about,” Cherry Jubilee said with a chuckle. “Ponies with Unicorn blood have a way of letting things get their interest in ways other ponies simply can’t understand. That’s just how it works, I suppose. They’re made of different stuff, so they tend to be a little different.”
Apple Bloom’s ears twitched. “That’s what I mean: isn’t it a little weird for a wizard to want to be a farmer? Every time there’s a faerie tale about a hero, it’s the other way around: farm boy wants to be a wizard. Doesn’t even matter if he’s a Unicorn or not, that’s just how it is. Wizard’s just a more interesting kind of life. They get to do more stuff.”
“Ha, well, now, that might seem to be the case for a youngin’ like you, but I can assure you the reality is vastly different. Think of it this way: to grow your own food is to take a little bit of responsibility in your own life. It makes you more independent, and for a pony who relies on magic a lot that might hold more weight. Magic can run out, and food can run out. You don’t want to run out of one when you’re out of the other, so farming without spellcraft and sorcery would be a nice little insurance policy, not to mention a more mundane hobby to cool off from the arcane studies. It’s also a good way of learning a thing or two about value.”
“Oh. When you put it like that, I guess...”
Cherry Jubilee tapped her chin, thinking. “Come to think of it, I think I heard something about Princess Celestia wanting to encourage her students to pick up gardening a while back. If I recall correctly, the EEA objected, though, so maybe there’s a good reason wizarding and farming don’t mix.”
“Really?” Apple Bloom scratched the back of her head. “I never heard of that.”
“Oh, child, there’s so much ponies don’t hear about, I’m sure you didn’t even know the EEA existed until they started butting into Princess Twilight’s affairs.”
“Fair point. Still doesn’t explain why the EEA would object, though.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I know this much: not every pony can do farming, that’s just not in the cards sometimes. City ponies who live far away from any fertile fields have to make do with what the roads can bring them, and they pay good money for it, too, wizard or not. On top of that, magic has a way of complicating things, doubly so for youngins, I suspect.”
There, Apple Bloom could see the point. Making every student pick up gardening in a school for magic was likely a disaster waiting to happen. A disaster involving a lot of vines, thorns, and compost, if she had to guess. “I guess that’s true. But what if you had a Unicorn trying to be a farmer? He’d never be able to do it the same way, right? We do all this with hard work, we kinda have to, but Unicorns can just use magic and ‘poof,’ that’s it. There’s no effort in it, at least for the powerful ones. And if there’s no effort in it, doesn’t that make it worthless? How do you make somepony feel good about what they do, when what they do is as easy as blinking?”
Jubilee took the fan out from under her headband and flapped it around a bit, as if the question had made her brain overheat. “Hoo, Nelly, you’re askin’ the wrong mare that kinda question, that’s going into talents and callings and recognitions. I don’t fancy getting my head caught in that bear trap, thank you kindly. But if you’re giving it that much thought and detail, it sounds to me like you’ve got an actual pony in this situation, and this isn’t a mere hypothetical or academical proposition.”
“No, Ma’am,” Apple Bloom admitted. “I guess. Maybe. Just some colt, is all, a Unicorn I met here, he’s trying to find the real meaning of his talent. He thinks he ought to be a farmer, except he’s got really good magic. Like, honestly impressive stuff, he can do with his horn in seconds something I can only do after twenty minutes of potion-making, assumin’ I could manage it in the first place without brutalising the local ecosystem. He’s obviously a wizard of some sort. Doesn’t that mean he should leave the magic out of it and just be acting more physical-like? You know, to feel like he accomplished something?”
Again, Cherry Jubilee tapped her chin as she thought it over. “That does sound plausible, I have to admit. He’s got his cutie mark already, I take it?”
“Yup. But he doesn’t know what it means, and I kinda promised I’d help him out.”
The mare nudged her. “So bring him over then, why dontcha? Let him work up a sweat, that’s what I brought this here for, and I’ve got plenty of treats and souvenirs for prizes, give him a little something for the effort. If he wants to be a farmer, show him farm stuff. If he enjoys the physical side of things more, he can do it all he likes and save his magic for compensating, or for emergencies. If not, maybe it’s the showy side of things he likes, and magic is a fine way to put up a show. Who knows, maybe he’ll want to do rodeos instead.”
“I doubt that. But that does give me an idea. If his talent is bein’ a wizard, or even a salespony and not a farmer, he would find out trying to do something like this. I did try to give him some pointers, I just don’t know if it helped.”
“What did you tell him?”
Apple Bloom thought it over, making sure to herself more than anything else that she’d said the right thing. “Put more heart into it, go for something traditional. You know, historical stuff. Give it some more meaning.” All of a sudden, she started feeling like she’d forgotten something.
Cherry Jubilee mulled it over from behind her fan, then nodded. “Oh, that sounds like fine enough advice to me. Of course, that would require him knowing what traditional even means in the first place, being a Unicorn and all, with different histories and traditions.”
Apple Bloom slapped herself. “Right. Wizard, he probably doesn’t.”
“It’s an easy thing to overlook. But you have plenty of material to show here. If it turns out his talent is not in a physical area, then you’ll know it’s in a magical area, or even just a thinking area. But if it turns out it is in the physical area, well, problem solved, no?”
Thinking area? Now there’s an idea. Wizards usually overthink stuff, don’t they? They have to, with their magic, as much as Earth ponies have to use their bodies to do things. There’s plenty of thinking to be done about farming, if he can’t do the physical.
Apple Bloom looked at the rodeo set-up as two stallions approached to take the challenge, the first pair of the day. The roping segment would be challenging to any pony who’d never done it before, but feasible after a few attempts. The horseshoe toss was easy enough. But the physical stuff?
She highly doubted String Bean had the strength to lift up one of those hay bales, much less start stacking them.
She shook her head.
Stop thinking ill of the boy, Apple Bloom, that’s not fair. He’s probably a lot stronger than he looks. He’s got growth magic, after all, who knows how much horsepower he’s really got in those skinny arms.
“That sounds like a great idea, actually. If he can’t do traditional on his own, a taste of the real stuff would be perfect.”
Apple Bloom came trotting back into the hall, expecting to hear String Bean call out some adjusted sales pitch to stand out from the crowds.
He’d adjusted it, alright. He’d made it sound infinitely worse.
“Ancient juice mixes right here! Sailor’s Saviour, Holy Guacamole, yes, sir, we’ve even got the legendary Minty Mango Mix straight out of Mage Meadowbrook’s recipe book. All sourced with the best ingredients furresh as they can be, grown before your very eyes!”
Apple Bloom picked up her jaw. Two mares came walking up behind her with a quick trot, eager to try these supposedly authentic ancient recipes, made exactly as the ancestors did it, except with magic and machine.
Once she snapped out of it, she shook her head and tried to ignore the rattling sound. “Ancient recipes? He got Mage Meadowbrook’s recipes? But she was an Earth pony, from a thousand years ago, where would he even get the-”
“Ancient recipe books!” A stallion called out from two stands down the line. “Mage Meadowbrook’s latest re-printed work, the wisdom of the ancients right here!”
She let out a resigned grunt. “Oh, right. She’s out and about again, so she got her stuff reprinted. Of course she did.”
Two mares that had approached the stand ooh-ed and ah-ed at String Bean’s new menu, this time written on a parchment and in fancy old-looking font. He’d probably used magic to write it, too.
Apple Bloom managed to make out a few recipes once String Bean had made another batch of magically grown and mechanically processed juice for his customers. She couldn’t help but notice he’d raised his prices by a few bits on top of it.
“Hey, Apple Bloom,” he greeted. “Ladies, this is Apple Bloom. The Apple Bloom.”
The mares raised their eyebrows at him.
“She’s a renowned cutie mark expert,” he added. “She also carried the Ponyville flag last Equestria Games, and she’s a very skilled potion brewer.”
The mares both ooh-ed. “So you, like, know this stuff?”
Apple Bloom suppressed a shudder, as that accent was hauntingly familiar. These were ponies from Vanity Valley, a town known for its trade in mirrors and portraits, and probably the second most aptly named location in Equestria since Daisytown got renamed to Skunk Central. “Yeah, you might say I’ve got some hooves in that pie. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, String Bean. In private, if ya don’t mind?”
“Sure. Be right back, ladies, farming business.”
Apple Bloom grumbled as he took her behind the counter. The mares seemed to know him from somewhere, at least. Again, she heard that exploding burp from a magic mirror behind him. He quickly put the paper away with the rest. “Sorry, I think my mirror’s broken. I keep getting all this junk mail.”
“Uhuh. Mind tellin’ me what you’re doing?”
String Bean shrugged. “I took your advice. I’m showing respect for the old ways. I went and bought a recipe book from the guy down the aisle. Good call, too: business has been booming since.”
Apple Bloom cringed. “That ain’t what I… look, don’t you think this is all a little, I dunno, cheap?”
He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
She looked away and tried to think of a subtle, gentle way to say it. “You’re kinda makin’ light of a noble profession and an honest tradition here. Don’t you think you ought to be doing, you know, better?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really see the problem. You said I should respect tradition, so now I’m doing traditional things. And ponies love it. Those two back there are Valley girls, they’re friends with important ponies. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to impress that kind of crowd?”
“It’s only two ponies.”
“But they’re ponies whose opinions matter. A lot. And now they’re customers, thanks to you. What is the problem?”
She sighed. Clearly she needed to be more direct here. “Just because you’ve switched up your recipes from new stuff to old stuff doesn’t mean you’re respecting tradition or doing your own thing. If anything, this is worse. You’re gonna end up with ponies thinking you’ve got a genuine product when all you’ve got is something done with magic and machinery. You’re gonna put yourself in a bad place if you keep this up, and you’ll only end up forcing yourself to do something you hate. Assuming you do hate doing this, of course.” She nudged his shoulder. “So, does this feel better than what you were doing before?”
String Bean’s smile faded, his ears splayed back. “Okay, no, you’ve kinda got a point there.”
Apple Bloom opened her mouth to argue, but found herself stuck halfway when she noticed his expression changing. She wondered just how forced his smiles had been so far. “Wait, really? You agree?”
“Umm, sure, it wasn’t my idea in the first place, remember? I only changed recipes because you suggested it, but at the end of the day, those recipes aren’t even mine.” He fidgeted awkwardly, looking away. “They were made by an Earth pony, and trying to make them as a Unicorn just feels off.”
“See?” She nudged his shoulder again, gently. “That’s what I mean. Stop copying something that’s not yours, that’s beginner stuff. You’re already good enough to not have to follow somepony else’s example, so start doing that. It’s going to keep feeling off until you find a way to do your own thing. If you really aren’t gonna do it the Earth pony way, think you could maybe switch to Unicorn recipes instead? You know, wizard stuff?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think there are any Unicorn recipes, honestly. Back in the day, Earth ponies had all the food, remember? Even a lot of the Unicorn royals had Earth pony cooks.”
There, she had to concede the point. Mostly. “But those are still recipes your ancestors were connected to, stuff with your history on’em. You don’t have to take my advice if you don’t want to. But if you do want my opinion?”
“Of course I do. You’re the Apple Bloom. Didn’t you hear me back there?”
She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “I ain’t that much of a bigshot, but if you want my opinion, it’s the same as before: you should find something that’s more... you.” She gestured up and down to him. “That’s how you find your true talent. Don’t do half the work everypony else does and call it a day, do it properly. I promise, you’ll know when you’re doing it right. And if you’re already puttin’ your heart into it, try puttin’ more brainpower into it. Try to work out something clever to do with your product, that’s what wizards usually do, right?”
He snorted, mulled it over, then nodded in a strange mix of defeat and confidence. “Okay. I think I might have another idea, then. There’s one other book I know I can try, and it’s all Unicorn stuff.”
While she wasn’t happy with how he looked, she nodded and smiled, regardless. This was obviously a touchy subject, and he was bound to cheer up anyway once he got things sorted out. “Good, try that. I’ll be around again after I do a quick run of Hall 3. If it doesn’t work out, I’ve found some place we can try and get things done with a little more hooves-on approach. There’s a practice rodeo for cherry pickers a couple aisles down, nice and physical. Maybe it’s just some hard work you’re missing out on.”
He gulped. “Umm, okay. I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but okay. I’ll do it more wizardly instead.”
“Good. And don’t worry about getting things wrong: that’s how you learn. I know I messed up a lot when I was still figuring out my talent.”
“Even after you got your cutie mark?”
“Especially after I got my cutie mark.” Apple Bloom cringed. “You think this is bad? Try mucking up a dance recital in front of everypony you know from market day, just because the dance teacher saw you carry a flag once.”
His eyes widened. “Ouch.”
“But don’t worry.” She gave the back of his neck a playful slap, only to find he buckled under the impact. “You won’t make that much of a mess, you’re cleverer than that.”
He stumbled back and went back to serving his customers, leaving her to go her merry way again. “Umm, thanks, I think.”
With her conscience soothed and her Cutie Mark Crusader duty fulfilled, Apple Bloom took a trip to Hall 3.
Apparently this was the health food section, as every pony at the entrance was selling something green and good for her. She knew it was good for her because the ponies kept saying it was and the stuff smelled questionable at best. The Food Court was odd like that: ponies shouted like it was market day, yet everywhere she looked, Apple Bloom saw both regular customers buying things they might never get elsewhere, as well as what looked like businessponies negotiating prices. On top of that, there was a surprisingly large amount of freebies on offer, which reminded her more of the conventions she’d heard Button Mash talk about a few times.
Canterlot stock market meets Ponyville food market, that’s as far as she understood the intricacies of this place.
She passed by the first few vendors, and chanced upon a pear stall. Seeing some slices laid out and the salespony gesturing at the free samples, Apple Bloom tried one.
Something sucked in her lips and chewed at her gums. She swallowed the slice, but only barely, and she felt that dry sourness forcing contortions out of her innards that would take at least five maple syrup-drenched pancakes to compensate for.
“You like?” The mare asked.
“Umm, yeah, they’re really packed with flavour, I guess.” Apple Bloom winced as it felt like her bones were being bleached. “A mighty sour flavour, though.”
“Well, they’re supposed to be. Sour is good for you.”
“Are you sure?” She eyed the fruits suspiciously. “Because they taste plain not ripe to me.”
The mare waved that remark away, nose and eyes firmly pointed up as was tradition when dismissing common sense. “You just don’t understand the nuances of pear farming, little girl. The ripening degrades vital nutrients in the fruit and adds unnecessary harmful sugars. Harvesting them small and sour makes sure all the good stuff is preserved. Sour means healthy, everypony knows that.”
Not about to get stuck in another argument, Apple Bloom smiled and walked along. “I’ll be sure to read up on that sometime, thanks.”
She growled as soon as she’d turned her back. Honestly, the nerve of some ponies.
Apple Bloom found herself stopping in front of a mango stand. It was managed by an odd sort of pony: one with bat wings and a dark grey coat. She’d only ever seen the likes of such ponies around Nightmare Night, and while she had heard a rumour they were fond of sweet fruits, she’d never actually pegged them for the farming profession. Except in terms of pest control, possibly. Bat-winged ponies were probably very good at keeping things far, far away from their fields.
“Hi, there. What’s all this?” She asked.
The Bat pony mare raised an eyebrow at her. “A little young to be wearing that badge, aren’t you?”
“I’m here with Grand Pear,” Apple Bloom replied.
“Ah. Well, to answer your question: we are selling a local speciality: mango smoothies. Care to try one?”
Apple Bloom still had the taste of sour pear curling her lips, so she nodded eagerly.
Big mistake. As soon as she sipped the smoothie, the taste of mango overwhelmed her senses. It stuck to her tongue, bled into her nose, she was pretty sure she could taste the stuff all the way to her ears.
“Pretty good, huh?” The mare asked.
“Umm, yeah. Good.” She downed it in one gulp, out of politeness. “But a little too sweet for my tastes, I reckon. I can feel my insides gumming up with it.”
“Oh, but it’s not like candy, though, it’s good for you! Mangoes have lots of Vitamin C in them,” the mare insisted with a smile that was all fangs.
“Still, this is practically pure sugar! You don’t put lemon in it or water it down with nothin’?”
“No, no, little girl. It’s more important that it’s healthy and tasty. No point in making a healthy product if nopony wants to eat it.”
The filly nodded. “Good point. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind next time I’m in the kitchen.”
She gagged once she’d gone down the aisle a little further. “Sour pears, mangoes that sugar up your insides… Sounds to me like this whole health food thing’s just a scam.”
“Blame the EEA for that,” a male voice piped up.
Apple Bloom’s ears perked up, surprised anyone had heard her muttering to herself, as she’d taken care to do so quietly. Then she noticed the eavesdropper: another bat-winged pony, presumably with bat-like hearing to boot. His ears were pointy and fluffy enough for it. His eyes were his most striking feature, though: light blue, extremely light blue to the point of being almost silvery grey, which gave them an otherworldly shine.
“You’ll have to pardon my compatriots,” he said. “Some of us have a bit more of a sweet tooth than others. It’s part of our magic, you see, we get used to extreme flavours very easily. And while it’s not traditional for our kind, mango farming is relatively popular nowadays.”
“Uhuh.” She walked up the stand, not seeing any obvious dishes or products on the table yet. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what is traditional for, umm, your kind? And what is your kind even called, come to think of it? I’ve seen’em around, but I never heard mention of them. If it’s okay to ask that too, that is.”
He waved the remark away. “Oh, ‘Bat pony’ is a fine enough name, little girl.”
“Is it? I don’t call my Pegasus friend a Bird pony,” Apple Bloom retorted.
“A fair point. But then again, we don’t call Unicorns Star Swirls, or Earth ponies Puddingheads, either. And to answer your other question: Night Guards and taste testers. We’re good at sneakin’ around and we’re good at detecting things.” He winked, then furrowed his brow. “You’re Apple Bloom, aren’t you? Applejack’s kin?” He sounded like he was from the Southern Marshes, but only vaguely. The accent was there, mixed with some of the more fancy-sounding rolling r’s, but without the flair of a pony like Cherry Jubilee. His accent was not distinct enough to pin it anywhere on the map, but definitely enough to put the pin somewhere below Canterlot.
“Yes, sir, I’m here with Grand Pear.”
He chuckled. “I thought you looked familiar. Your Aunt and Uncle Orange come by our farm every week. They always flash the latest pictures when your family makes the news, too. The front page really doesn’t do you any justice.”
Aunt and Uncle Orange? She hadn’t heard those names in a while. “Really? You know my family?”
The pointy-eared stallion nodded. “Two little leaves of that particular branch, and Grand Pear’s an old friend of the family. Me and my kin have a moderately large establishment on the outskirts on Manehattan, lots of rich ponies like to come by for some, err, custom product.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Custom product meaning...”
“Beers. Which is why we’re a little lower profile here than most. Here, my card.” He extended a hoof to give her a little piece of paper.
Apple Bloom took the stallion’s card and read it. “Silver Moonshine Brewery, Age-Old Ales and New Brews. Thanks, Mister.”
“Silver Shine’s the name, but you can just call me Silver. Pop on by if anyone you know is in the market for a taste of the old times. We’re not the biggest player on the market, but we’ve got a long line of brewers behind us.” He thought for a moment. “I think our first cider mill is as old as Ponyville, actually. Or two years younger, I forget which.”
Apple Bloom thought for a moment. “Wait, if you brew beers, what are you doing in the health nut section?”
He smiled and turned to pour her a cup of what looked like a golden lemonade. “This. We do regular elixirs, tonics, and ginger ale as well. Here, try some, it’ll wash the mango out of your system. It’s child-proof, don’t worry.”
Apple Bloom took the cup and gulped. If this was anything like all the other stuff in this section, she was about to get another foul experience. Much to her surprise, though, nothing bad happened when she drank it. The sweet clinginess of the mango passed, her stomach rumbled in relief, she could even feel her nostrils opening and her head clearing a little. Then the spicy ginger hit. The rumbling in her stomach turned to a pleasant warm burn.
“Not too hot?” Mister Silver asked.
She sighed happily and licked her lips. “Hmm, no. It’s hot, but it’s a good hot, just right.” Her belly groaned. “A mite active on the innards, though.”
“It’ll do that, yes. It’s also good when you have a cold, and it’s been known to help Pegasi with flight trouble, in some cases.”
She huffed. “Why does everypony here keep yappin’ on about how healthy their stuff is? It’s only farm produce, it’s not like you’re gonna get fat on it. Except maybe offa those mango smoothies, no offence.”
“None taken,” Silver replied with a shrug. “It’s a marketing ploy, really. I mean, sure, you do get the occasional pony who is genuinely worried about making a healthy product, but most of the time it’s pure bluff. All the fruits and veg look alike, you see. You’re from an Apple family apple farm, you’d know. How can you tell the difference between your apples and those that aren’t?”
She gasped. “Oh, gosh, where do I even start?”
He held a hoof up to stop her. “Hold on, different question. How does a normal pony tell the difference?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but every argument that tried to come out was shot down halfway when she realised. “Oh. I guess they wouldn’t.”
“There’s your answer. When you sell your product, you want it to stand out. For some ponies that means harvesting it small, for others it means keeping it as sugary sweet as possible. And for ponies like me, it means acting like an encyclopedia when all you are is a brewer and part-time farmer.”
Apple Bloom nodded. “I get that. It still seems like a low thing to do, though.”
“It’s not something most ponies are fond of, that much is true. You need to find a balance between a good product and good marketing. And like I said, the EEA has been pushing for it a lot lately. The Earth pony representative is… controversial, to say the least.”
“I’ve seen Chancellor Neighsay, I can imagine his colleagues aren’t too different.”
He chuckled. “Well, one colleague in particular has been pushing the health nuts to the forefront, for… whatever reason, who really knows what goes on in their minds. But as a result, everypony who’s got an opportunity to is jumpin’ on the bandwagon, even the ones who really shouldn’t.” Silver Shine shuddered. “Especially the ones who really shouldn’t.”
“I’ll bet. But on the bright side, at least it lets ponies try out new stuff. This is good, I like a good ginger ale. I’ll be back for a box later when the squash contest is done.”
He gave her a dignified nod. “I’ll save you a box, then, Miss Apple Bloom, and I’ll let my father know Grand Pear is on the premises, if the old bat hasn’t found him already.”
Apple Bloom would have objected to her grandfather being called an ‘old bat,’ but she quickly realised that Silver was referring to his father, who had to be, logically speaking, both old and at least part bat. “I’ll keep a lookout for him if you like.”
“Yeah, you can’t miss him. He’s a very dark brown, but his right hind hoof’s bright grey. Silver Sock, they call him.”
“Will do!” Apple Bloom trotted along, enjoying the rumbling in her stomach. That ginger ale really hit the spot, and Mister Moonshine seemed like a level-headed fellow, much more so than all the posers she’d seen so far. At least some ponies don’t take the whole health food thing too far.
A pair of mares trotted by in the opposite direction, as if reading her mind.
“Hey, did you hear? There’s this unicorn boy selling freshly made tonics, mixed right on the spot!”
“Oh, really? High in antioxidants?” asked the other.
Apple Bloom sighed. “Tell me he didn’t.”
“I heard it’s a vitamin bomb,” the first mare continued. “And the best part is: he grows it right in front of you! No pesticides, no fertiliser, no environmental pressure, just the pure magic of a young boy’s heart.”
“He did.” Apple Bloom said, before pawing at the ground in frustration and marching right off to the stall she just knew these mares were talking about. “Elbow grease it is, then.”