Death of Mother Nature Suite

by Cynewulf

II. (B)The Beauty

Applejack rocked on the porch and enjoyed the falling sun.

The days had a way of feeling shorter, as the harvest wrapped up. So much to do, so little time remaining to do it! But she wasn't concerned.

Once, she had been. Not so long ago, Applejack's farm had been paradoxically successful and on the edge of ruin. It was often the way of things. You accepted it. Good years were good years, but you saved far more than other's expected because you knew that good years never last. A bumper crop is just a bumper crop. It won't save you from a string of bad years, and it won't remove the possibility of abysmal failure next year. Nothing did.

Rains fail. Fire takes what it can. Insects devour, vermin infest. There's not enough help or there's too much unskilled help. Plant too soon, plant too early. Plant on time and you're still riding on the edge, confident but only by practice, knowing that nothing is set in stone and nothing is certain.

That had been then. Now? Well. Now she still held possibility in the back of her mind, and by no means did she discount the power of flood and fire, but no longer did Applejack find herself lying awake at night, thinking of that power. No longer did she nervously inquire as to the books and harp on Rainbow Dash for more rain because she could almost hear the crack of flames.

Ponyville had changed.

Got bigger, for one. Got fuller. More ponies meant more laborforce, and more hooves to the road meant more left over for Applejack and the other farmers. Meant more mouths to feed, too. So she'd expanded. Hell, they'd all expanded, all the real farms, the ones that weren't just an acre and a house. It had been a risk but it had paid off.

Then came the machines. Applejack had heard of the machines as a foal, but the great hulking beasts of iron had always been a far-off prospect. They were a thing for other ponies in other towns in other whens and wheres. Her father had shown her pictures in the catalogues that filled their mailbox every month, scrunched up and full of vibrant color. As a foal, Applejack had delighted in the roaring noises her father had made, trying to imitate what he imagined the machines might sound like.

But now they prowled her fields, driven by the hired help and her brother and sometimes herself.

The machines had come to the Carrots first. Applejack and Bloom had watched them wheeled up to their neighbor's gates with awe and bafflement, and given customary waves as the Carrot's matriarch had come out to inspect her newest arrivals. With bated breath, they had watched the marriage of simple machine and glowing magic come to life and it did not roar, not as her father had imagined, not with the fire of combustion and smoke but with the sharp whine and hum of thaumic lightning.

And now the beasts of iron hummed and whined on her own land. It had been only a matter of time. Two good seasons in a row had certainly helped.

Productivity was up, money was flowing in, and demand for Sweet Apple Acres Cider was high. So high that that Mac and herself spent as much time doing business as they did farming, and soon she suspected they'd be doing very little actual farming.

Which... well, now that she thought of it, and what would entail... Left her a little empty.

Comments

[ClockworkMage]

I'm glad she's happy.
I'm glad that the prospect of succeeding her way out of her endeavors doesn't make her feel a little nervous and kind of hollow.
That'd be a real shame.

[SIGAWESOME]

8325600

I'm glad that the prospect of succeeding her way out of her endeavors doesn't make her feel a little nervous and kind of hollow.

Given the nature of the previous chapter, I am thinking there is a big "but" coming up in the story...

[Ice Star]

Why do I fear that B AJ's happiness might end? Or maybe she will give A Applejack many nice snacks (A AJ does not like eating dust, I imagine) and they can both be happy?

But I now strongly suspect only the Raridash entity is allowed to be happy in your stories, and everypony else must feel many shades of m e l a n c h o l y.