//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: Joe // by JMDARE //------------------------------// Joe walked along the path through the orchards towards the farmhouse and barn of Sweet Apple Acres. His concerns had grown last night as he went through his nightly exercise. Despite the suspicion he’d mentioned to the Cutie Mark Crusaders that it had worked too well he’d normally be happy if he could do a few more chin-ups or push-ups or sit-ups or a few more repetitions with lifting the weights in different ways. He’d been embarrassed that the first impression these Ponies had of humans was that they were rather wobbly and soft as that had been true with the weight he’d gained, and he’d used that to drive himself to regain, or improve, his fitness. But his exercise time was also his thinking time and the time spent last night had let him wonder if Apple Bloom would have come to his door if he hadn’t worked so hard. He had considered not turning up, as arranged, but one of the disadvantages of this world was the lack of telephones and it seemed better to get back to normal as soon as possible. He shifted his grip on the spade, axe, and mattock he’d wound a canvas strap around and wondered if those were what he needed for the digging and chopping. Approaching the barn he saw a very large and red furred mass of muscle and briefly wished he’d at least one of those tools free. Not that he thought it would do much good if Big Macintosh decided to trample him. This seemed unlikely but it would have been nice to be certain rather than the huge stallion’s expression being as uninformative as usual. “Big Macintosh,” Joe said, stopping a little further away then he might have done normally. “Joe,” replied Big Macintosh. They looked at each other for a few moments before Joe spoke again. “We have a problem with each other?” “Eee’Nope.” “Good,” Joe nodded, but before he could feel too relieved another voice cut in. “Joe! What did you think you were doing?” demanded Granny Smith, forging towards him with the combination of frailty and fearsomeness that seemed a universal constant of family matriarchs. “Ah, Madame Smith…” “Don’t you ‘Madame Smith’ me!” snapped Granny Smith, continuing to approach with the speed and inexorability of a glacier. “Answer the question!” “Ah’ll go ahead,” Big Macintosh said, making his escape towards a wagon. “Well?” demanded Granny Smith again. And so began a rather unpleasant several minutes. There was little Joe could do to defend his actions and he was hampered by not knowing what Applejack and Apple Bloom had told their grandmother. It seemed from her anger that Big Macintosh had been forgiving rather than ignorant but there was still the question of the details. If they had not mentioned his armour and weapons then it would be ridiculous to suggest, in his defence, that he would have been able to protect Apple Bloom and the other Cutie Mark Crusaders. But if they had not mentioned his armour and weapons then Joe did not want to mention those either. To make matters worse although Joe was not sure how old Ponies like Granny Smith had to be to have grown-up grandchildren was it seemed she was old and experienced enough to have developed a lot of skill at detecting evasive answers. There was a lot of cross-examining and demands of what Joe meant by something when Granny Smith thought he’d been too vague. The balance between being apologetic enough to satisfy her and too apologetic and making her think he was being insincere was hard to strike as well. Eventually though she seemed to decide that enough was enough. “Mah voice is getting tired,” Granny Smith said, giving Joe a glare to show she blamed him for making her have to scold him. “You’d better git, and catch up with mah grandson.” “Of course,” nodded Joe, “and a pleasant day to you as well.” Granny Smith watched Joe walk off in the direction Big Macintosh had gone and had to stifle a chuckle. That youngster might be a funny shape, and be on only two legs, but she recognised that sort of walking. Despite the differences it brought back memories of all sorts of Fillies and colts doing their best to make a dignified exit rather than cry. Or in this case more like a full grown stallion, or mare, who’d decided to be polite and respectful and was holding their other feelings in until they could swear where Granny couldn’t hear them. Then she creaked across to the barn and pushed the door a little further open. “Well?” asked Granny Smith. “See, Fluttershy,” Twilight Sparkle said, smiling down at her friend, “Joe didn’t start getting nasty.” “He acted like any Pony does when I tell them off,” nodded Granny Smith. Fluttershy gave a little whimper and stayed huddled down on the floor of the barn as she nodded. She didn’t like it when people quarrelled so Joe acting no worse than a Pony might had not made it much better. There had still been a lot of arguing and if he had ‘got nasty’ then at least that would have meant Twilight Sparkle would have stopped it sooner. She still didn’t think Joe was as nice as Winona, who’d have put her belly on the ground and given soulful puppy-eyes at being told off, but maybe he was nice enough. “He seems… fine,” Fluttershy admitted. == “Cider?” asked Big Macintosh, seeing Joe approach. “Eee’yup, thanks,” Joe replied. Big Macintosh took a couple of wooden tankards from next to the barrel he’d had the foresight to stow on the wagon. He filled one for Joe and then one for himself and the pair toasted each other and drank. A minute or two of companionable silence later Joe decided to speak. “Good Cider.” “Eee’yup.” “What was the digging and chopping?” “Few trees with rot,” said Big Macintosh, nodding towards them. “Chopping them down?” “Maybe.” “Take a look?” “Sure.” Joe nodded to this and drained the rest of his Cider before putting the tankard back by the barrel and picking his bundle of tools back up. Although he was no farmer as they approached he could see the apples were discoloured and there were patches where bark had flaked away to reveal unhealthy wood beneath. But as he was no farmer he needed to ask more questions. “Be just the affected trees? Or the ones next to them as well?” “Rot shows before it starts to spread. So just the ones where it’s visible.” “So be this one?” Joe asked, drawing his knife. “Eee’yup.” Joe made a quick slanting cut in the bark and then twisted his knife to make a second at right angles and form an X. “This one?” “Eee’yup, and that one, that one…” replied Big Macintosh, Joe nodding in acknowledgment and making an X each time. “So what are we doing?” Joe asked. “Getting them out of the orchard. Maybe fit a couple on the wagon at once. Better take the cider off first.” Joe looked at Big Macintosh. That was all true and good ideas but he’d hoped for something more specific. “What’s our first step?” “How would you deal with it?” “Well,” Joe mused, “I don’t think I’ll need the shovel, probably just the axe and mattock.” “Better to have it than need to go back.” “True. Though I might not even need the axe.” “Eee’yup?” Joe unwrapped the strap holding the handles together and picked up the mattock. “I’ll be able to loosen the soil with the pick on this and maybe dig enough away with the flat blade to let us uproot the tree.” “Trees have lots of roots,” Big Macintosh pointed out, what looked like hidden amusement in his eyes. “They go as wide as the crown,” nodded Joe, “so I’d have to chop through some. Question would be whether to chop into the root like this…” He demonstrated, swinging the mattock down in a vertical arc so the edge of its blade was horizontal. “And whittle off a sliver at a time from the top, or to use the axe and turn myself so I’d be bringing its blade into the side of the root.” “Eee’yup,” Big Macintosh agreed, adding, “axe looks sharper.” “Good thing it is,” sighed Joe, “I might need to chop the tree down and then dig out the roots. Or at least chop off some branches.” “Why so?” “To get a good swing I’d be bringing this up to here,” replied Joe, demonstrating, “and some branches are a bit low.” “Don’t want that caught,” Big Macintosh nodded, “though even more trouble for you.” Joe smiled to Big Macintosh. “How would you deal with it then?” “Happen I’d just give it a few kicks to loosen it, and then push it over.” “Which means you are even stronger than you look.” “Eee’nope. Ahm as strong as I look, just stronger than you thought.” “Which could say something about Earth Ponies here,” Joe chuckled, “or about my lack of experience with equines back where I came from.” “Eee’yup.” “So, back to my question. What are we doing?” “Your idea sounds good. But ah might not need as much digging and root cutting as you were thinking.” Joe nodded to Big Macintosh again and they set to work. Or rather Joe set to work as until he’d loosened the first one there was nothing for Big Macintosh to do. He did need to resort to lopping a couple of branches, but not enough to make it worth chopping through the trunk instead, and had soon exposed the sections of root closest to the tree. After he had worked a while longer weakening or cutting through those Big Macintosh approached to lay the flat of his head against the trunk. He pushed, hooves sinking into the soil fractionally, and the tree leaned slightly. “Seems enough, or maybe that root there and then enough,” “Sure,” Joe replied, chopping that root and then getting out of the way. Big Macintosh pushed again, harder, and with some tearing of the soil and snapping of the roots Joe hadn’t severed the tree fell. A few apples bounced away as the tree landed and the branches on the upper side shook with the impact. “Should we be worried about those?” Joe asked. “Eee’nope,” replied Big Macintosh. Then, seeing Joe was not satisfied, he continued, “they go bad when the rot gets worse, but fine fer now.” Joe nodded to this and, seeing Big Macintosh take a firm grip with his teeth on a bough and have no trouble dragging the tree, began to dig and chop the next one free. This went just as well but before Big Macintosh started to drag this second one he looked to Joe. “More Cider?” “I’d better pace myself.” “Eee’yup. But we should talk.” “Ah.” With some concern Joe followed Big Macintosh and helped him get the second tree onto the wagon. Despite his comparative lack of size and strength Joe found he could actually be of considerable help since it was easier for him to use that lesser strength to lift vertically. The wagon loaded they returned to where Big Macintosh had put the tankards and barrel and, not particularly caring if they had the same tankard as before, got themselves their drinks. “Maybe do that the other times as well?” Big Macintosh mused. “You help with the lift I mean.” “Sure.” “But, maybe you shouldn’t go into the Everfree again.” “I do need to visit Zecora each week,” Joe replied, “and to spend a few hours gathering things for her to repay her for the potions that helped me adjust.” “Eee’yup. Good to repay debts. Maybe limit it to that though?” “That might be wiser,” Joe admitted, “though yesterday was unusual. Not been attacked since I’ve been carrying a spear and wearing armour, so I’d begun to wonder if I’d needed them.” Big Macintosh nodded. “Instead you found you really did.” They drank some more cider before Big Macintosh looked at Joe. “You ain’t going to stay out as much as would be wiser are you?” “As far as the Cutie Mark Crusaders are concerned I am. After yesterday I am sufficiently…” “Scared?” Joe paused and then nodded. “Scared works. But sufficiently whatever that I’m not going back in.” “And as far as the truth is concerned?” Big Macintosh asked. “As far as that, when I go in there and make my notes and sketches and measurements and see something new…” “And get out alive?” “It just feels like I have accomplished something,” Joe continued. “You’d have done fine with this without my help, but…” Joe stopped and shook his head. There was another long and fairly comfortable pause, and some more Cider, until the quiet was broken. “But you need to prove yourself to yourself,” Big Macintosh suggested. “You’ll back down and try to avoid any arguing with us in Ponyville ‘cause you want to get along peaceably. But you want to know inside you that it’s because you’re choosing to not argue, not because you’re too scared.” “Maybe it is that,” admitted Joe with a sigh. “An ego boost from going where Ponies mostly don’t. I just know I feel better after a trip around there.” “Eee’yup.” They finished their cider and Big Macintosh began to tow the wagon to where he would dump the trees. Joe hesitated and considered a third tankard of Cider before deciding to just go back to work. When Big Macintosh returned Joe had managed to loosen the next two and start on a third. Once Big Macintosh had shoved those over and they had loaded them onto the wagon the Pony left without any more advice. Joe began to relax as more Cider and moderate exertion and peaceful teamwork combined, and by the time they’d finished and were heading back he’d almost convinced himself things were back to normal. Or normal by the standards of the last few months at least. “Joe!” Granny Smith called, seeing them approaching. “You need to go visit Fluttershy.” “Why?” asked Joe. “Because I…” Granny Smith began. “He’d want to know if he needs to take any tools,” said Big Macintosh, sufficiently full of Cider and fellow feeling to intervene and interrupt. “No tools,” Granny Smith said, making Big Macintosh quail with the glance she gave him. “Just himself.” “Eee’yup,” nodded Big Macintosh, again deciding to make his escape. “Now,” Granny Smith warned, looking hard at Joe, “don’t you go scaring that girl. You hear?” “Scaring her?” replied Joe, returning the look. He’d not been willing to defend his actions of the day before, but either the Cider or the nature of the warning made him less willing to tolerate this. They locked eyes for several seconds until Granny Smith nodded. “Ah’m not going to apologise,” Granny Smith said grudgingly, “but I will admit that was unfair.” “Thank you,” replied Joe. “I’ll go and see Fluttershy once I have dropped off my tools and freshened up.” “That’s wise,” Granny Smith said, raising her chin a little, “Apple Bloom mentioned the whole dripping water thing.” With that parting sally the old mare turned away and walked off. Joe considered protesting the dripping but as damp as his shirt had become it did not seem his argument would be as good as at other times. So he just started towards his hut to wash and change clothes, and let out a sign of annoyance as thought about what he could have for a snack and remembered his lack of buns.