Going with the Grain

by Bronyxy


7 High Plains Farm

The taxi containing the two farmers pulled away from the taxi rank and turned out onto the nearly deserted High Street. The smooth ride along the metalled roads didn’t last for long before the small town was left behind them and they found themselves being bumped and jostled on the uneven tracks that led through a featureless landscape of flat wheatfields.

The last few gilded rays of the setting sun skimmed across the waving heads of ripening wheat shimmering in the gentle late afternoon breeze. Suddenly, the relief of meeting her relative at the end of a day and a half of travelling made Applejack feel sleepy and her head started to nod. Before she knew it, her head had lolled over to one side and found itself resting on Goldie’s shoulder.

He had been watching her, ready to make smalltalk but had noticed her eyes getting heavy and wasn’t surprised when he felt her head suddenly bump against him and slide down until it was resting on his shoulder. He was a little embarrassed at the unexpected physical contact from a mare he had only just met and once again felt himself going red, but wasn’t going to disturb her as it looked like she needed the sleep. Within just a minute or two, his embarrassment had faded, replaced by a feeling of happiness that his cousin had been prepared to travel so far to meet him and had felt relaxed enough not to be on her guard with him. A gentle smile crossed his lips and he found himself leaning subconsciously into her too.

Despite the skilful driving that had seen the taxi manoeuvre left and right to avoid hitting any of the numerous bumps on their route, a sudden jolt told them that the wheels had found one of the many potholes that dotted the track they were on. Applejack awoke, startled, and realised that she had been resting on her host’s shoulder. Her mouth felt a little funny and she smacked her lips, realising with a feeling of dread that she had been slobbering. With a horrible sinking feeling, she turned to look at Goldie’s shoulder, praying she hadn’t … but then realised she had, and there were sticky drool marks all down his fur to confirm her fears.

“Welcome back, cuz” he said amiably, seeing his guest was now awake, but apparently completely unaware of the concerns preoccupying his travelling companion, “We’re almost there now; just a few more minutes will see us at a crossroads with a red mailbox on the corner, then it’s just a two-minute walk. We should just about do it before it gets dark.”

“Um, cousin, I think there’s something I should tell you …”

“Don’t worry none ‘bout fallin’ asleep on me cuz, we are family after all!”

Applejack bit her lip, and although she tried her best not to stare, kept finding her gaze drawn back to the slobber marks she had left on the friendly stallion, feeling a heightening sense of embarrassment.

The taxi pulled up to a halt and Applejack tore her eyes away swiftly from the marks on her cousin’s fur to see if she could find out what had happened, and caught sight of a red mailbox before remembering in a flash that this was where they were going to get off.

“Yup” said Goldie in response to a question that hadn’t been asked, “We’re here; High Plains Farm, home to generations of the Graham family.”

He got up and proffered his forehoof to Applejack, who again was pretty certain she didn’t need it, but accepted graciously and allowed herself to be escorted out of the taxi while her host reached in and retrieved her saddlebags.

By the time he had pulled the bags out and checked that they had left nothing behind, he saw that Applejack had walked round to see the stallion who had served so well as their driver and was opening her purse.

“No, cuzzin” he interrupted, easing himself between his guest and the taxi driver, “Please, you’re a guest of the Graham’s. I wouldn’t hear of you coming all this way to see us and then making you pay for the taxi fare too.”

The driver didn’t much care who paid him; he was used to seeing all sorts, and smiled patiently as Goldie passed over the bits, along with a handsome tip.

“Why, thank you Sir” he acknowledged, “Have a good evening and don’t forget to ask for me by name when you want to be picked up again; name’s Hackney Claridge; want me to write it down for you?”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to remember, thank you” he replied.

“OK” said the driver with a smile, “Be sure you do, now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

Applejack looked at the red mailbox and then at the yellow taxi as it headed back to town, taking in the absolute flatness of the terrain.

“High Plains Farm?” she asked tentatively.

“Oh yes, that’s right” replied her host, picking up her saddlebags and hoisting them onto his own back as they set off towards some inviting farm buildings, “Back when I was young, we had a visit from the Equestria Geological Survey, and they reckoned this here farm was almost a whole one foot higher than anything for miles around.”

Applejack scanned around, desperate to see a difference in height anywhere, and failing.

“Of course, they came back a day or so later and said they’d made a mistake and it weren’t no higher than anything else around these parts, but the name kinda stuck. Now, I’m not prepared to say whether or not some young colt of about my age, who may have just so happened to look a whole lot like me, may have made a few tiny little adjustments to their equipment while they was having a tea break in our house, but truth is for a while, this here farm was the highest place on their map!”

He nudged her gently and they both laughed happily as the first lights turned on in the windows of the farmhouse in front of them. Inside a few ponies could be seen hurriedly making final preparations and then the front door was opened, bright light spilling out onto the path before them.

“Come on in” came a friendly voice silhouetted in the doorway, beckoning welcomingly, “Dinner’s ready in another ten minutes.”

Suddenly, a much younger pony, about the same size as Apple Bloom, pushed past the legs of the pony in the doorway and bounded down the path to meet their guests.

“Hey, hey, Teddy Bear, calm down!” Goldie called out chuckling in his evident delight in meeting up with the youngster again.

“Are you really from the other side of Equestria?” asked the colt’s voice, light from the open doorway gleaming in his expectant eyes.

“Now that all depends on how you look at it” replied Applejack with a gentle smile, lowering her head to greet him, “You see, to me, you’re on the other side of Equestria.”

“But you’re near Canterlot, aren’t you?” he persisted, “What’s it like there? Do you have tea with the Princesses?”

“Now then, Teddy Bear” chided Goldie softly, “We’ve got plenty of time to swap stories. Yes, Miss Applejack here is from near Canterlot, but I’m sure the Princesses are far too busy running the kingdom to take tea with all of their subjects.”

“Well, actually” chipped in Applejack, “Me and my friends do meet up with the Princesses from time to time …”

“You do …?” gasped the colt, his mouth falling open. Even Goldie looked at her surprised, but by now they were at the door and a kindly mare ushered them in.

“Hello dear” she greeted warmly, “My name’s Honey Graham, do come in. You must be exhausted; come in and rest your hooves. I’m so looking forward to hearing all about you.”

Applejack found herself swept in on a wave of hospitality, much like she and her family would have given had the situation been reversed.

She noticed Honey drawing Goldie’s attention discretely to the marks on his shoulder, after which he hurriedly disappeared, before returning a minute later with an obvious damp patch where he had clearly been told to wash off the unsightly mark. Applejack knew what that mark was and felt herself blush over again; she never had gotten around to telling him about it.

Once the hurly burly of shaking hooves and giving friendly hugs had died down, Applejack was shown into the kitchen where the family all swiftly converged and ushered her to the place of honour at one end of a large wooden table, not unlike the one at Sweet Apple Acres. Once she was seated, the old stallion they called Grandpa poured her a glass of amber liquid before decanting the remainder into glasses in front of the other prepared place settings, and taking his seat at the head of the table immediately opposite her.

“I propose a toast” announced Grandpa, “To our dear cousin Applejack.”

“To Applejack” echoed around the table and glasses were raised to their guest whose cheeks were turning a shade of red.
Everypony except one took a drink, the young colt looking enquiringly up to the younger of the two stallions before he took a sip from his own glass.

“Yes, it’s alright” said the stallion reassuringly, “You’re old enough to have cider when you’re at home with us now.”

“Oh, thank you!” replied the colt, happily taking a big gulp, then pulling a face before he looked questioningly up at the stallion.

Applejack didn’t recognise the label on the bottle, but although it looked fancy, the cider itself wasn’t a patch on what was produced on her own farm, so she felt a touch of sympathy for the young colt.

“We got it in especially for you” said Honey, “Knowing you was an apple farmer. Thought it would make you feel right at home.”

“Why thank you kindly” said Applejack doffing her hat, “But truthfully, it’s the love in your hearts that makes me feel right at home here.”