//------------------------------// // Old Hat, New Hat // Story: A Hat With Spice // by WanderingPony //------------------------------// "Git them fences painted! Do yer chores! Fetch Granny more firewood! Buuuuuuuuy some apples!" The orders rolled nonstop from beneath Applejack's hat as it's owner leaned on a wooden fence while two fillies were busy rolling around and giggling in the looming shadow of it's wearer. Apple Bloom waved a hoof around with authority, aiming it at her big brother, placidly running a plow through the distant field. Sweetie Belle started to squeak and turn an adorable tint of red as the littlest Apple commanded his utter obedience. "Plow them fields! Tote them hay bales! And buck the west field by last Tuesday!" "APPLE BLOOM, AH TOLD YA TO GIT THEM FENCES PAINTED!" Scootaloo went into hysterics. "Apple Bloom, that was the BEST one yet!", the runty pegasus managed to gasp as her eyes blurred with tears of laughter. When they cleared, green eyes were burning with the promise of certain doom, and a rough-shod hoof scraped a long streak in the dirt. A second later, three trails of dust marked a trail zooming for the uncertain shelter of the Apple homestead. A door slammed to the sound of Winona barking up a storm, then silence settled back down over Sweet Apple Acres. A snort that would only been ladylike from a she-minotaur came from the monstrous orange-furred beast as it stomped towards the homestead, fixin' to get her teeth into a certain little pony... --- The ogrish monster pushed the front door open and roared: "APPLE BLOOM, YOU COME HERE AND GIVE BACK MAH HAT THIS-", Applejack trailed off as the missing link revealed itself on Granny Smith's head, who had a box open next to a scrapbook. Crumb covered faces looked back with the hopeful expressions of the condemned who had reached sanctuary three steps ahead of the Grim Roper, although the plate of apple fritters had mostly gone on to their final reward (or repast). The last, still steaming offering was raised by Granny to the growling beast. Consarn it, she knew I skipped most of mah breakfast!, Applejack thought as the first bite began to banish the empty feeling in her stomach, which gurgled and growled as the pack of timberwolves that the rest of the family called "AJ's appetite" seized the meal and savagely digested it into gobbets of bliss. "Why don't you sit down and have a few more, dear. I was just showing your sister and her friends a few of my hats...", Granny creaked out. The thought of sitting through a selection of bonnets failed to get Applejack's attention, but a second plate of fritters proved more effective. The next look Apple Bloom got was far kinder as the hungry pony-monster became a much less grumpy big sister. "Big sis, ah'm sorry I borrowed yer hat. We was just havin' a little fun!", the hat-stealing varmint said from her safe perch by Granny on the sofa. Applejack, dreading a tour of lacy ribboned frippery managed to accept the apology with a minimal number of lost chews of flaky goodness. Granny Smith reached into the hatbox...and pulled out a battered clone of the one sitting atop her own wrinkled head. A good sized hole in the top looked like it'd been cut right out of the thing with a sharp knife. "This here was Applejack's great-grandpappy's hat, and he handed it down to his colt. When it got too plumb busted to fix up, we cut up what good parts was left...", Granny said and tossed her head, sending the hat on it flipping forward onto the living room table. Applejack's cowpony hat came to rest upside-down, the lining matching the older hat's material perfectly. "...and we made it a part of HIS colt's hat. And that hat was your pa's, and when it gets worn down, you'll take some of THAT hat and make it into the new one. Just like your great-grandpappy made one from the one he got, or sometimes she. I think your great-great-great-aunt had it before he did...all the way back to the very first Apples. Why, your great-great-aunt Saucy used to say that every cowpony hat a farmer called their own was made from a pony fancying one like the hat we've passed down for generations!" The scrapbook was a history of photography, from a picture of Applejack through black and white, cabinet to card to faded portraits of over a dozen Apples...each bearing a hat seemingly cloned over the centuries. "So where'd the Apples figger out how to make this, Granny?" "That's "Where'd we larn to do that, Granny", Apple Bloom. Say it right." "Aww, are YOU a dictionary too?" "Well, dear...I can't rightly say..."