Twilight mused, as she often had before, that there was a very interesting (not to mention lengthy) book to be written about Apple Family traditions. It seemed that there was some kind of small ritual attached to every stage of an Apple's life. Not that they'd call them rituals, of course. As Applejack would say, it was just the way things were done, and she wouldn't be the one to change that.
Funerals, of course, were no exception.
The family had come together from all over Equestria. Twilight and the others, as 'honourary apples', had been invited to the last Apple Family reunion, and that had been similar in many ways, with old friends and relatives who hadn't seen one another for years glad to take the opportunity on both occasions to catch up with each other, and share the news of what each branch of the family tree had been doing. But in other ways...
Take the dancing, for example. At the reunion there had been an impromptu band performing, including Applejack herself with a borrowed banjo, and the Apples had thrown themselves about the dancefloor, whooping and hollering with delight, and even the more formal dances where the couples formed into lines and the steps had been laid down generations before, had had a merrily rough and ready air to them, teetering on the brink of a joyous mess if a pony put a hoof wrong.
It was different today. The movements were slower – not mournful, exactly, it wasn't that kind of slowness – but careful, each step carefully placed, and the overall effect was.. it was... not graceful, precisely, that wasn't quite the right word, and Twilight prided herself on finding the right words. As she watched, Rarity, in a black dress and veil, and Hayseed Turnip-Truck came together and linked forelegs, circling once and then, with a small smile and a nod for each other, separating, each moving smoothly to the next partner.
Dignified. That was the word. The dancing was dignified, but with a simplicity and a total lack of pretension that would have been completely alien to the Canterlot snobs that prided themselves on their own dignity. Of course, Twilight realised, it wasn't their own dignity that the dancers were concerned about.
“Respect,” Applejack had said earlier, when they'd still been planning for the funeral, “it's all about showing respect to the... the dead. It ain't about grieving. That's something we do on our own, in private, or with them that's closest to us. Grief's personal. Selfish even. At the end of the day it's about our own loss. This is about Granny.” True to her word, no tears had escaped Applejack during the ceremony, and even now she was smiling as she moved through the throng, stopping here and there to share a word or a hug with an aunt or cousin, making sure everypony's drink was full or that they had something to eat. Last night she'd buried her face in Twilight's shoulder and bawled her heart out like a lost foal, but like she'd said, that was private.
A bonfire had been lit near to the barn, and ponies sat around it passing stoneware jugs back and forth and telling stories about the Apple Family Matriarch, some old, some newer, and mostly small, everyday things, like the time Granny had caught the teller stealing pie and spanked his behind, but then given him a big slice all to himself when she'd decided he was sorry enough. At the end of each story everypony would cheer and toast with their jugs, before starting the next one.
Twilight stepped away from the fire and headed into the orchards. The oldest fields were naturally the closest to the house so she didn't have to go far. In the very oldest field, where the Apple Family had planted their first trees, was the mound of fresh soil where, earlier that day, she and the others had watched Big Mac carefully plant a tiny seedling, patting down the soil around it while the Apples all murmured in unison. Twilight had had to lean close to Applejack to hear.
“To earth we go, from earth we come again.”
“'T'ain't no mystery to it.” Applejack had explained as they walked back to the farmhouse to set out the food and drink for the evening. “The trees and the fruit keep us as we keep them. We care for our crops, and they help make us strong and healthy, so when we die with go back to the earth, and through the trees that strength gets passed on to the next generations.” She looked back at the tiny plant atop the mound of earth. “I reckon if that li'l thing gets even a bit of Granny's strength, it's gonna shoot up bigger'n Canterlot Mountain.”
Now, in the dark, barely able to see the newly planted tree, Twilight realised that she didn't really have anything to say. So she bowed her head, and hoped that somehow her feelings would be understood by someone who mattered.
She wasn't surprised when Applejack stood next to her, and bumped a shoulder against hers.
“You okay, Sugarcube? Enjoying the evening?”
“You know, I am actually,” Twilight said. “It's been good, I think.”
“Well, I'd hope so,” Applejack said, smiling at her. “Wouldn't be right to send her off with a lousy evening, right? Wouldn't be respectful.”
“No, I suppose not,” Twilight said. “Should we go back?”
“If you want to,” Applejack said. She nodded to the mound. No, Twilight thought, to the tree. “I'll be back to see you tomorrow,” she said.
As they headed back to the house, Applejack paused and tipped her hat to a pair of trees close to the fence. “Ma and Pa,” she explained as they walked by. The ponies by the fire had started to sing about being 'Apples together', and Twilight thought she could hear Apple Bloom's high, clear voice weaving amongst them. Nearby, the musicians and dancers were starting to pick up the pace.
“Hey, Twilight?” Applejack said. “She was a heck of a mare, wasn't she?”
“She really was,” Twilight said, nuzzling the other mare's cheek. “She really, really was.”
“Come on,” Applejack smiled and started trotting towards the bonfire, “I feel like singing.”