The Apple Family was having a big sale in town. It was getting towards the end of the season, and, as Granny Smith kept shouting, everything must go. They had already put away the apple preserves and the cider that they were going to ferment for special occasions. Now they were selling the last of their apple pies, fritters, crumble, cobbler, crisps, cakes, candy apples and other such goodies.
Applejack was trotting to and fro, restocking the booth every few minutes. Ponies were going crazy over the Apple Family recipes, and the bits were pouring in. As it got towards nightfall, fewer and fewer customers arrived, and Big Mac had already taken Apple Bloom and Granny Smith home.
AJ was about to close the booth when a brown mare approached. Her mane and tail were blonde, her eyes blue. She was a Unicorn, and she had a pad of paper as her cutie mark. "Are you Abigail Jacqueline?" she asked, smiling a bit.
Applejack chuckled a bit. "Only if Ah'm in trouble with Granny Smith. Call me Applejack. What can Ah do ya fer?"
"I'm a reporter for Equestria Daily News. I'm doing a series on the bearers of the Elements of Harmony. I'm not looking for your life story, I just want to get the details on one little thing."
"Ah know what yer wonderin'. Where'd my hat come from."
"Uh, yes. How did you know?"
"It's what everypony asks me. It's like there's some rule. 'If yer gonna ask Applejack one question, ask about her hat.' Well, if you have the time and wanna maybe buy an apple pie, I'll tell ya the story of my hat, my pa, and the most important day of my life."
Short answer is, my pa gave me my hat when I was just a little filly. But that's not what you wanna hear. My pa was a great stallion. He was strong, handsome, funny. Ah'm a bit biased, I s'pose, since he was my pa. He loved his family. He raised Big Mac an' me til Apple Bloom was born.
Our ma was a wonderful mare. Ah didn't know her too well, me bein' so young. She died givin' birth to Apple Bloom. What? No, I wouldn't trade back if Ah had the chance. It's not what ma would've wanted and Ah love my little sister.
Anyways, when Ma died, Pa got lost, as Granny Smith put it. He'd still help out on the farm and play with me 'n' Big Mac, but... He was just goin' through the motions, y'know? Ah really resented Apple Bloom at first, even though it wasn't her fault. In my fool filly eyes, she took my ma away, and then my pa turned away.
Pa had a hat. An old dusty leather thing. It was fallin' apart on his head, but did he turn it in for a new one? Shoot no. He always said he'd wear the hat to the grave, and then some. Ah believed him. Huh? Naw, this ain't the same hat. That one sits up on the mantel at home. We don't touch it, 'cause we think it'll fall to dust if we do.
Ah loved my pa, really. Ah was even named after him, kinda. Ah'm Abigail Jacqueline Apple. He was Jacky Apple, Applejack to his friends.
But he was lost, like Ah said. When Ma passed away, he's the one that buried her, all by his lonesome. He dug two holes that day, and told us that if he passed before we did, he wanted to be beside her. We honored that. We'd be cruel not to. Granny always says that there ain't no love that can be separated by the grave.
Pa's chores on the farm included bucking the apples and carryin' 'em back to the barn. He taught Big Macintosh to do it and he taught me to do it. Never got to play til we got the bucking done for the day. But then, what games we would play. He would be our own rodeo bull. We'd ride him, wrastle him, hog tie him.
And he would always smile and laugh til Ma was gone. I know, I keep going back to it. I ain't ever been able to talk like this to someone before. And it's an important part of how Ah got my hat.
Afterwards, he'd still play with us, but he wouldn't give us all his energy. He was worn down after a few hours of apple buckin' and sometimes he just went inside and took a nap while Big Mac and I played by ourselves. He got quieter. He had been outspoken, and then he stopped saying as much. Eventually, the only two words we could get out of him on our own were 'Eeyup' and 'Nope.'
Big Mac asked him why he didn't talk as much one day. Pa told 'im that when you miss someone dear to you, it was normal to talk less. Macintosh took that to heart, though he's gotten better lately. Ah guess he took Ma's death harder than Ah did. Never really thought about it that way before.
Ah'm realizing a lot of things tellin' you this...
Pa got sick, but he wasn't ill. He wouldn't eat, had trouble sleeping, more trouble wakin' up. His chores went half-finished until Big Mac or Ah stepped in to finish 'em. He wouldn't talk. When Granny Smith took him to the doctor, doc said that he was depressed. Nothin' to do about it except try to keep him occupied.
A week later, Granny arranged for the Oranges to stay with us. Our Manehattan family on Ma's side. They loved Pa, like he was one of their own. Ah guess in a way he was. They got his mind off Ma, all right. They told him that if he didn't start shaping up, they were gonna buy the farm out from under him, adopt me, Big Mac, and Apple Bloom, and make him get therapy.
He started workin' harder, playin' funner. He was almost himself again. But there was always this look in his eyes when you mentioned Ma. Annette Julianne Orange-Apple. Ah get most of my looks from her. Orange coat. Blonde mane and tail. Only thing that aren't hers are the eyes. These are one-hundred percent Pa.
We had the farm back in shape soon enough. Pa would take me and Big Mac to see Ma's grave. Granny Smith would come along sometimes, but that was about the time her hip started goin' bad. Pa would tell us stories about Ma. How she once rescued a baby bird from a timber wolf. How she chained herself to a big ol' sycamore tree that some corporation wanted cut down. Ma was a good pony, and Pa was her perfect match.
Eventually the Oranges went back home. They said that we were always welcome in Manehattan. Yeah, Ah took 'em up on that eventually. A few weeks after Pa died. But you don't wanna hear that story. That's my Cutie Mark story. You wanna hear about my hat and Pa.
Pretty soon after they left, Pa was back to his new old self. He was lost again. At least until the day that Apple Bloom ran away.
Ghost Writer looked up quietly, noticing tears on Applejack's cheeks. "Maybe you should tell me more tomorrow. It's getting late, and I don't want to keep you."
Applejack nodded, swiping at her eyes with one hoof. "Awright. Ah'll be here selling tomorrow. I c'n let Big Mac and Granny Smith run the stall for a bit." She smiled. "Thanks for letting me tell you this."
"Thanks for letting me hear it. I'll see you tomorrow."