//------------------------------// // Chapter 8: Cider // Story: Clean Slate // by Alaborn //------------------------------// Clean Slate By Alaborn Standard disclaimer: This is a not for profit fan work. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is copyright Hasbro, Inc. I make no claim to any copyrighted material mentioned herein. Chapter 8: Cider At the same time as my return to school, I found myself quickly integrated into my family’s busy work schedule. Come Tuesday afternoon, I again headed out to the orchard, collecting the apples that Rainbow Dash shook from the trees. Each day ended with a late dinner, then homework, then a deep sleep. The work was getting to us all. Everypony was tired. Conversations were shorter. The pegasus who appeared to be relaxing in the boughs of an apple tree on Monday appeared to be legitimately asleep on Wednesday. But seeing the barn and cellar fill with harvested apples made me feel our work was worth it. Thursday was the last day of school for the week. It was a short week, with Friday being a holiday honoring the wise earth pony Smart Cookie. More importantly for us, Friday was the traditional start of cider season. Since harvesting apples seemed so important, I expected I’d continue this week’s work. But instead, Apple Bloom suggested otherwise. “Granny Smith wants you inside,” she said. I headed into the farmhouse by myself. I found the elderly mare in the kitchen. “Good afternoon, Granny Smith,” I greeted her. “Well, hello there, Diamond Tiara!” she replied. “Ready to get cooking?” “What?” I uttered, confused. “You said you wanted to learn the family recipes, right?” she said. “I guess,” I muttered. Truth be told, I had a hard time knowing what I wanted. That’s the consequence of losing one’s memory. “Well then, I’m going to show you how we make our cider!” she said enthusiastically. I looked around the empty kitchen. “Here?” I wondered. “No, the cider’s made outside. We have a machine for that,” she explained. “But there’s more to cider than apples. Why don’t you fetch the cider spices from the basement?” I nodded, and walked down the stairs. The cellar was dimly lit, the afternoon sun casting beams of light through the small windows near the ceiling. The chamber, empty not more than two weeks ago, was now half filled with apples. Once downstairs, I looked for the spices. I realized I didn’t ask what I was looking for. The shelves actually held a number of spices, but there were three spices overrepresented here. Those were probably what I was looking for. I took the bags in my mouth and returned to the kitchen. “Cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice!” Granny Smith said. “You have a good nose, Diamond Tiara.” “Not really,” I admitted. “All the other spices, they looked like smaller amounts, like for family use. These were the only three where you had enough for large-scale use,” I commented. “Well then, you have a good eye, and a good brain! That’s also important!” Granny Smith replied. “Can you tell me what these are all for?” I asked. “Well, dearie, we want your first sip of Apple family cider to remind you of the most delicious slice of apple pie you’ve ever eaten! So we mix the juices of our apples with these spices,” she explained. That did sound tasty. “The important thing is getting the right balance of spices,” Granny Smith continued. “Four to two to one, and then, for an additional burst of flavor, we let these cheesecloth pouches filled with cinnamon sticks float in the cider!” “So that’s what we’re doing tonight?” I asked. “You got it, Diamond Tiara,” she replied. Once the spices were all laid out, Granny Smith pulled a small grater out of a drawer. She demonstrated how to make the bundle of cinnamon, basically showing how many sticks of cinnamon to use, and how to tie the bag. I assembled the bags, having a little trouble manipulating the string. I still had problems gripping with my pasterns, and the result was a series of ties that wouldn’t win any prizes for beauty. But they will get the job done. Granny Smith, despite her age, had no problem grating the spices, holding even the small allspice berries between her hoof and the grater. About halfway through the work, I opened one of the jars. I noticed the jar looked different, being a slightly different shape; the jar was also rather dusty. I pulled out a cinnamon stick and looked at it carefully. It looked off, maybe dried out. “Is this still good?” I asked Granny Smith. “Eh? Oh, let me see that,” she replied, taking the cinnamon stick. She held it close to her eye, inspecting it. She gave it a sniff, then ran the grater over it, checking the aroma again. She set it down. “That’s not good enough for Apple family cider.” Granny Smith checked the rest of the spices, confirming that two other jars held bad cinnamon sticks. She put the jars into a cupboard. “Now, there’s no sense in letting these go to waste. It’s still good to eat, but only the freshest apples and spices go into our cider,” she explained. She raised a hoof to her chin. “Now that’s a right nasty pickle.” “What’s wrong?” I asked. “It means I’ll need to head to the market tomorrow, and we all have a full schedule,” she replied. “Let’s talk after dinner.” After preparing the spices for cider production, I helped Granny Smith prepare dinner, under her careful scrutiny. Once I listened to her directions carefully, I was able to follow them. The stir-fried vegetables looked a little overcooked, but once the food was on the table, everypony ate it without complaint. We had scarcely finished dinner when Granny Smith jumped up, surprisingly spryly, and gave us this determined look. “To the living room, all of you!” she ordered. We all moved without question. To the normal furnishings of the living room, a slate chalkboard had been added, being placed next to the window. It was one of those movable ones that could be reversed; the school had plenty of those. Was it borrowed? In any case, it was filled with a grid, columns divided into two hour blocks, and rows for each of us. Granny Smith soon followed us, an upturned saucepan resting on her head like a makeshift helmet. She picked up a piece of chalk and smacked it against the chalkboard. I instinctively sat up straight. “Now listen up, troops,” she ordered, getting everypony’s attention. “Tomorrow, we’re going to sell the best cider anypony has ever tasted. We’re going to work hard. We’re going to make as many ponies happy as possible. And we’re going to do the Apple family name proud.” “Yes, Granny Smith,” her three grandchildren said. Caught unaware, I nodded. “So here is the schedule for tomorrow. We start selling at 8:00 AM. Let’s start with the first block, dawn until opening,” Granny Smith said. “Big McIntosh, you’re on the cider press.” “Eeyup,” he replied. “Applejack, you harvest as many apples as you can from the far south field.” “Will do,” she said, nodding. “Apple Bloom, you’re on stand setup.” “I’m going to put up that awning I’ve been working on!” Apple Bloom said happily. “I’m on apple inspection,” Granny Smith continued. “And Diamond Tiara, you help with setup. Get those mugs out there so thirsty ponies can drink our cider!” “Okay,” I replied uncertainly. “Don’t worry, I can help you,” Apple Bloom said reassuringly. Granny Smith then continued with the tasks during the day. Applejack and Big McIntosh split the heavy work, including applebucking, running the cider press, and moving barrels of cider. Apple Bloom was happy to know she was working the stand, albeit with frequent visits from Applejack. That made sense; Applejack did seem to be the most public face for Sweet Apple Acres. Granny Smith handled inspection, coordination, and distributing food and water to everypony else. That left me, doing the job I was probably best suited for. I would spend the day on mug duty, taking away dirty mugs, washing them, and then returning them to the stand. Granny Smith smacked the chalkboard again, pointing the chalk at the midday block. “Now listen up. Tomorrow, we have a change in plans. I need to head to the market, or we’re not going to have enough cinnamon to make our cider on Sunday.” The elderly mare took the eraser and cleared the block with her name, before writing “Market” with the chalk. “That means somepony else will need to make lunch.” And with that, she wrote “Lunch” in the block with my name. I didn’t know what to say. What if I made a terrible lunch? Granny Smith rested a foreleg on my withers. She had taken off the pot, and dropped the drill sergeant demeanor, returning to the kindly mare I knew. “Now don’t you fret, young one. Just go to that cupboard I showed you, and find a recipe you’d like to make. I promise, we’ll be happy with whatever you make,” she said warmly. “Eeyup,” Big McIntosh said. “After running the cider press, you could put the slop from the pig’s trough in front of me, and I’d be happy.” I chuckled. I certainly hope my lunch would be better than pig slop! In helping with the setup, I saw just how big cider season was. It was still an hour before we opened, and there were hundreds of ponies in line. Incredibly, they all seemed happy to be waiting! I set down a bucket of mugs by the booth and took the time to admire Apple Bloom’s work. The colorful awning, decorated with apples, would provide needed shade from Celestia’s sun. “Looking good,” I said. “Thanks,” Apple Bloom replied. Applejack arrived, bringing barrels of cider. She arranged them carefully, making sure the barrels wouldn’t tip or roll away. Finally, after more of this work, we all, save for Big McIntosh, gathered by the stand. Smiling, Applejack took a tap and kicked it into one of the waiting barrels. “I declare cider season officially open!” she announced. Cheers erupted from the crowd. I had enough time to watch the first pony in line, Pinkie Pie, consume enough mugs of cider to fill one bucket completely. I took it back, and began the laborious process of washing the mugs. I fell into a routine, alternating between moving mugs and cleaning them. At some point, a growl in my stomach reminded me that I needed to prepare lunch. I took a stepladder out of the closet, and reached into the cupboard by the sink. It was stuffed with books and papers. I placed my hoof on something that looked like a cookbook and pulled. I got the book, but also caused a small avalanche. Papers, folios, and other books fell on my head. I grunted, and picked up the papers, stacking them together. As I did, I noticed something on one of the papers. My name. It was some legal document. I wanted to see what was in it, but I set it aside. Cider season was too important to my family for me to shirk my duties. The book did turn out to be a cookbook. I leafed through its hoofwritten pages, looking for something that wouldn’t take a long time. The recipe called Crustless Quiche caught my attention. The ingredients looked basic, and despite the fancy name, it was just a baked egg dish. Importantly, it could be put in the oven, allowing me to focus on the dishes. It sounded more like breakfast, but if what Big McIntosh said was correct, nopony would mind. I chopped vegetables and gathered the other ingredients in between washing buckets of mugs. Once the quiche was in the oven, I put the cookbook and all the other papers away, the mysterious paper out of sight. It still weighed on my mind as I assembled a salad and continued my washing. Around noon, Applejack returned to the farmhouse, helping me deliver lunch. She balanced the food on her back while I carried dishes and utensils with my umpteenth bucket of clean mugs. We served Big McIntosh first. The sturdy stallion rested by the cider press, his mane matted to his forehead by sweat, the strong aroma of his exertion surrounding him. He nodded as he accepted hearty portions of the lunch I made. We brought the rest to the stand, and Applejack, Apple Bloom, and I ate together. The others didn’t stop working, with Apple Bloom serving cider in between bites of quiche, and Applejack tapping fresh barrels of cider. Just as I finished my own meal, there was another bucket of dirty mugs to wash. “Good job, everypony,” Applejack said, gathering us in a group hug. The stand was closed, the crowd dispersed. There were several hours of sunlight remaining, and dozens of thirsty ponies had returned to town, but we had reached the day’s limit of cider. While the selling was over, our work continued. Apple Bloom and I headed back to the orchard, spending the remaining daylight collecting more apples felled by Rainbow Dash. I heard sharp cracks, indicating Big McIntosh harvesting apples in the normal way, and the faint whirr of the cider press in action told me what Applejack was doing until evening. Granny Smith had a huge meal ready come sundown. I don’t remember what we ate, but I remember eating a lot of it. From there, there wasn’t much of a desire to do anything else. We were tired, and Day Two would be here soon. We all prepared for bed. As I rested in bed, I felt physically exhausted. I can only imagine how a pony who did harder work, like Big McIntosh, was faring. Still, my mind was not letting me find rest. The mysterious package in the cupboard was calling to me. I stared at the ceiling and listened attentively. Not a sound was heard, save for Apple Bloom’s slow breathing. I slowly lifted the covers and crawled out of bed. I paused. Apple Bloom’s breathing remained slow and steady. I tiphoofed out of the room and down the stairs. I lit a candle and carried it into the kitchen, setting it on the counter by the cupboard. Climbing the stepladder, I searched until I found the mysterious package. I then carried it and the candle to the table, its light and the light of Luna’s moon allowing me to read. The first document I pulled out was the one I had first noticed, a legal document. The wording was unnecessarily complicated, but it was easy enough for me to follow. It named Applejack Apple my guardian, and Applejack and McIntosh Apple trustees for the assets left to me from my father’s estate. Second, I found a copy of my father’s will. I read through its many bequests. Surprisingly, there were no mentions of any family members. Among the bequests were generous amounts to a number of servants, and even larger amounts to the city of Ponyville and a number of charities. Finally, it directed the remainder of the estate and ownership of Barnyard Bargains, Inc. to me, to be held in trust until I reached the age of majority. Finally, I found a number of financial statements. Stock certificates, bonds, bank accounts. It was a lot to figure out, but fortunately, there was a consolidated statement, summarizing the values of all these investments. My jaw dropped. I had never seen a number that large before. Day Two went much like Day One. Sweetie Belle was enjoying a cup of cider during one of my trips to the stand that afternoon, in the company of an older unicorn with a similar coat color and an air of elegance. She introduced the mare as her sister, Rarity. I don’t remember what we talked about, exactly; whatever polite conversation we had was lost as I struggled to remember her. She was a clothier, and I had several nice dresses. Were they her designs? Did I ever visit her shop? No, all I could remember was her name in my history book, the name of another one of the Elements of Harmony. The second evening was again filled with work. Apple Bloom mentioned we’d be getting the last of the cider apples by evening. I guess that puts a hard cap on the amount of cider we can sell. The organization of cider season, from the weeks leading up to it to the final days, were becoming clearer to me. Three days, all selling out at around the same time, utilizing the maximum amount of the harvest, and with the cider as fresh as possible. I can see why it’s so popular. Day Three was still busy, but there was a feeling of work winding up, of a conclusion to one season’s work. I felt like everypony was doing only two things at once, instead of three. I saw Rainbow Dash flying overhead every time I went out to the stand, and occasionally spotted Scootaloo, trying her hardest to stay in the air. The two pegasi decided to stick around after getting their cider, and I watched them as I shared a lunch with Apple Bloom. “You can do it, Scootaloo!” Apple Bloom called, the pegasus filly trying to gain altitude. “Feel the air around you, squirt!” Rainbow Dash instructed. “Tap into your magic!” Scootaloo struggled, not finding success. When she fell to the ground, Rainbow Dash wrapped her comfortingly in a wing. “You’ll get there,” she said. Rainbow Dash smiled, but it looked forced. The normally energetic mare was moving slower than normal. Dark bags were under her eyes. But there she was, doing all she could to improve Scootaloo’s spirits. It was late afternoon when we drained the final barrel of cider. Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo were still practicing, sticking around even as the rest of the crowd headed home. When I noticed Big McIntosh approaching with another barrel balanced on his back, I remembered that Rainbow Dash had additional motivation for staying around. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Rainbow Dash said, practically drooling. “It’s the least we could do to thank you for all your help,” Applejack replied. “Well, I’m going to take this baby home, and then I’ve got to kick off the big storm,” Rainbow Dash said. “The rain will start around an hour before sunset. Will that give you enough time for, uh, that?” Applejack nodded. The Apples seemed to understand what “that” was, but I was confused. Big McIntosh helped balance the barrel on Rainbow Dash’s back, and the pegasus departed. Scootaloo waved to us and trailed after her mentor. “Come along, Diamond Tiara,” Applejack said. “There’s one thing left to do in cider season, something we do as a family.” The entire Apple family met outside the barn. Big McIntosh hefted one final barrel of cider, and Granny Smith carried a number of mugs. Instead of heading inside, we walked into the north orchard. We climbed a small rise and stopped in the shade of a mighty apple tree. It took me a while to notice something under the tree, three gravestones. Without speaking, Applejack tapped the barrel, and solemnly placed the first three mugs on the grave sites. She then continued by filling mugs for each of us. Applejack doffed her hat and spoke quietly. “Cider season’s over for another year. It was tough, but we pulled together, and sold more cider than ever before, save for last year. But we’re not going to make that mistake again, let me tell you.” I’m not sure what Applejack meant, but the uh-huhs and eeyups from the other Apples told me they remembered. “Grandpa, your recipe is as good as ever. It was great seeing so many happy ponies enjoying your special blend, but it’s just not the same without you. Ma, Pa, Grandpa, I’d give it all up just to drink cider with you again. “We have a new family member this year. This is Diamond Tiara. I wish you could see her. She’s done a lot to help us this cider season, even though she’s still recovering from something nopony should have to go through. I... I’ve talked to you about her before. I never had anything good to say. Pa, you always taught me that everypony deserves a second chance. I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry.” Applejack embraced me. “I’m sorry, Diamond Tiara.” I didn’t know what to say. I just returned the hug, squeezing Applejack with all my might. Afterwards, Applejack picked up her mug of cider. The others followed, so I also picked up my mug. “Here’s to the end of another cider season,” she announced. We all drank. As the sweet and subtly spiced liquid crossed my tongue, I suddenly realized that, this whole week, I never tried the cider. We didn’t serve it with our meals. There wasn’t a jug of cider in the icebox. So this was my first taste of Apple family cider. Applejack’s speech had set a somber mood, but the first taste of the cider brightened my spirits. This... this was delicious! And to think that I had some part, small as it was, in creating it. With my second sip, I experienced a sensation. It wasn’t a memory, and it wasn’t one of those impressions I occasionally got. It was... regret? I tried to reach into my buried memories, but nothing surfaced. We stayed under the apple tree, drinking cider. The others spoke a few words to their departed relatives in between mugs, all sharing the same feelings of love for the farm and longing for the presence of their departed relatives, but for the most part it was a time for quiet contemplation. Applejack kept our mugs full, and we drank until the only cider remaining was in the three mugs set aside for the ponies we all wished would return. By this time, it had grown noticeably darker. Various pegasi were positioning dark clouds across the sky above Ponyville. Big McIntosh nodded sagely. “We best get inside,” he said. We headed home, exhausted physically and mentally. But to our credit, we went right back to work. There was dinner to make, and a farmhouse to clean, chores that had been set aside due to the urgency of cider season. By the time dinner was on the table, the thunderstorm outside was in full swing. The wind howled furiously, driving the rain in sheets against the window. “Is this bad?” I asked. “Sometimes the town needs a big storm,” Big McIntosh said. “And there’s been a big one after every cider season for some years now,” Granny Smith added. “Don’t worry about it, sugarcube,” Applejack said. “Rainbow Dash probably scheduled a week’s worth of rain for now so it wouldn’t muck up the ground during our harvest. I trust her. She’s a good weather manager.” I still felt nervous. Our bedroom was pitch black. The clouds blocked all light from Luna’s moon. The rain continued unabated. “Hey, Apple Bloom?” “Yeah?” she replied sleepily. “Did I ever have your family’s cider before... you know?” “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “Oh,” I replied. “I must have been the only pony not to drink your cider.” “I doubt it,” Apple Bloom said. “Crazy as it sounds, there are some ponies who just don’t like apples. As for you, I don’t think your father ever had time to wait in line, and you, well, you didn’t want to have anything to do with my family.” “All right then,” I said. “Good night, Apple Bloom.” “Good night, Diamond Tiara.” Did I secretly regret not drinking Apple family cider before the accident? I don’t know. But as sure as it was raining outside, I would regret it if I ever passed on it in the future.