A Year in Equestria

by Blade Star

Chapter 7 - July

I came to with a start, woken from my peaceful slumber by an unsettling wail. After coming to for a moment, I threw the covers off with my magic and got up to investigate. I had a pretty good idea what was going on, but it pays to be sure.

Squinting for a moment, I let my eyes adjust to the dark. There was a decent crescent moon tonight, which was streaming moonlight into my room. It was enough to see by in any case. Just to be safe though, and to avoid tripping up over anything that I might have left lying around (I’m not exactly the tidiest of ponies when I get caught up in one of my little projects), I lit up my horn, adding a bright, light blue glow to things, and casting shadows throughout the room.

As I got myself situated, I heard the eerie wailing again. It was coming from outside, somewhere off in the orchards. But indoors, with the windows shut, even my more sensitive equine ears couldn’t pinpoint the source, or clearly identify it. So, trotting over to the window, I pushed the lower half up, letting in the cool night air and causing me to briefly shiver as my body adjusted from being in my nice warm bed. For a moment, everything was silent, and I thought that I might have just been dreaming, but then it came again. My ears quickly pivoted around, searching for the direction. It was coming from the Everfree alright, and it was a howl, several in fact.

I smiled to myself, feeling like the kid who’d stayed up all night waiting for Father Christmas and having actually managed to catch sight of him. The timberwolves were howling. Those strange, malevolent wooden wolves, held together by the dark magic that was prevalent in the Everfree Forest. Usually, they gave the farm a wide berth, only very rarely coming out of the woods when food was scarce. They usually only howled to communicate. This though, with all of them howling, it was excitement. Their innate connection to magic was whipping them up into a frenzy.

I could feel it too, albeit only faintly. It was a bit like standing around when a thunderstorm rolled in. You could feel the energy in the air, and knew that before long, lightning was going to strike somewhere close. To the wolves though, it was like catnip, or whatever the equivalent is to wooden canines. No doubt now they were all racing through the woods in excitement, howling as they went.

Now, why was I so interested in wolves howling at two in the morning? Well, it was simple, the howling of the timberwolves was the first sign that Zap Apple season was upon us. We’d all been waiting a couple of weeks now, looking and listening for the first sign that the trees were preparing to bear fruit. The strange rainbow coloured apples made a fine jam, which due to its rarity, could earn us quite a tidy profit, thanks to the long standing deal between Granny Smith and Filthy Rich’s forebears.

It turned out though, that I wasn’t the only one who’d been woken by the noise. Sweet Apple Acres’ venerable matriarch, the expert on Zap Apples, had also stirred and was now determined to make sure everypony knew that the season was upon us.

Cue the sound of pots, pans, and spoons being banged together like some unholy orchestra. My ears went flat against my skull in an effort to try and blot out the sound. Outside my door, I heard her running back and forth in the hall, and a moment later run down the stairs and out into the farmyard.

“The timberwolves are howlin’! The timberwolves are howlin’!” she exclaimed like an Equestrian Paul Revere.

To be fair, there was a method to her madness, a phrase that can be applied to most of the seemingly odd things Granny Smith does. With the zap apples and the magic whipped them up into a frenzy, the timberwolves could sometimes get a little cocky. Usually, like their flesh and blood counterparts, they give civilisation a wide berth. I’ve run into timberwolves when I’m out near the Everfree on more than a few occasions, and nine times out of ten, if they spot you, they’ll maybe size you up for a moment, and then decide you’re not worth the trouble and run back into the brush. But when they were in this condition, they were much bolder. So, you needed to do something to startle them out of their high and ensure they didn’t come too near the sheep, cattle, pigs, or chickens, never mind us. That was what Granny was doing; making as much noise as she could, waking us all up, and also spooking the wolves and convincing them to continue giving ponies a wide berth.

As I continued to listen, I heard the window to my right open up; Big Mac’s room. A moment later, the red stallion appeared, a night cap perched atop his head, and Smarty Pants perched between his shoulders. He quickly spotted Granny Smith running about the farmyard. A moment later, the opposite window opened; Apple Bloom’s room, and both Apple Bloom and AJ appeared, the latter having gone to her sister’s room to check on her when she heard the commotion.

“The zap apples are comin’! The zap apples are comin’!” Granny Smith continued to holler as she banged the saucepan and spoon together making loud clanging noises.

Meanwhile, the howling of the timberwolves began to die away. They were still howling their heads off, but were now moving off, deeper into the Everfree. The innate magic in the trees would go dormant again before long, and they’d calm down, at least until the second sign some time tomorrow. For us though, the excitement was just starting.

“Alright! It’s zap apple season!” Apple Bloom exclaimed excitedly.

“It sure is, sugarcube,” Applejack agreed. “You lookin’ forward to it, Bones?”

“As long as I don’t have to wear another bunny costume this year!” I called back. “I reckon Big Macintosh and I will stick to harvestin’ the trees once they’re ready.”

“Eeyup!” Big Mac concurred.

“Come on, y’all!” Applejack instructed. “It’s too late to think about goin’ back to bed now. We’ll get Granny Smith back indoors and then we can start preparin’ for the harvest.”

---

And so we did. Applejack was right anyhow. Considering that life on the farm usually has us getting up at around five in the morning most days, there was little point in going back to bed. More to the point, from now on, until the end of the zap apple harvest, we needed to make every second count. We now had only a few days before the zap apples would be ripe and safe to harvest. From there, we had only a couple of days to complete the harvest, before any remaining zap apples would vanish just as they had magically appeared.

Now, I’m many things, but a botanist is not one of them. However, given my interest in magic, I had made a small study of this unusual bit of Equestrian flora. The trees, for the most part, bear a strong resemblance to the common or garden apple tree. But unlike their less magically imbued counterparts, zap apple trees remain bare throughout most of the year. While the rest of the orchard blooms, and while the other trees are ripe for harvesting, the zap apple trees remain bare, except for perhaps two weeks in the middle of summer.

From what I gleaned from Granny Smith, the zap apples were first discovered by her forebears when Celestia first gave them the land that would eventually become Sweet Apple Acres, as well as Ponyville. They grew on the periphery of the Everfree Forest, and some wild zap apple trees continue to grow there. As luck would have it, the Apples arrived and planted the strange seeds just as they were reaching the peak of their growth cycle. Trees sprouted and matured in mere moments, and in a few short days, they yielded fruit. But just as quickly, they would vanish again, remaining dormant for another year. Originating from the Everfree meant that their magic was wild magic, as I’ve come to call it; undirected and unpredictable. Their most likely origin is the mixture of such wild magic with the common apple tree, creating a new magical subspecies. However, I still have no clue about why their growth cycle has been both accelerated and condensed so greatly when compared to a typical apple tree.

But, as the saying goes, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Zap apple jam is second only to cider in terms of popularity. To be fair, it does taste delicious and goes great with pretty much everything. Mum even made a fantastic rainbow Victoria sponge cake last year with it. In fact, by the time Granny Smith came on the scene, the stuff had become so popular, and the Apples had so established themselves in the area, that they were able to set up quite the beneficial contract.

Now, just to be clear. I don’t dislike Filthy Rich per se. I did despise his daughter once upon a time, and I remain steadfast in my opinion that his wife is a complete and utterly irredeemable bitch, and consequently that he has an appalling taste in mares. But he himself I have no problem with. He runs his modest business; Barnyard Bargains reasonably well, hasn’t become quite as stuck up as his wife is and his daughter once was, and is a genuinely caring father. And if nothing else, every year, in exchange for a fair portion of the zap apple harvest, and in particular zap apple jam, the stallion gives us a shed load of bits that helps see us through the winter. Having said that though...well, as Frank Pentangeli said;’ Your father did business with Hyman Roth. Your father respected Hyman Roth. But your father never trusted Hyman Roth!’. And so it is with Filthy. Celestia knows if he could get his hooves on some zap apple trees, he’d terminate our little standing agreement double quick. He tried it once apparently, many moons ago, when Bright Mac was still around. Needless to say, he’s never tried it since.

But back to the present. We all had work to do, and as of now, we were on the clock. There was a lot to do, and only twenty four hours in the day to do it. After a quick breakfast and plenty of strong coffee we headed out. The first job was fairly simple; set up the baskets around each of the zap apple trees. This was, when it came time to harvest, we could just start bucking away at each tree. The zap apple orchard is fairly small, so we had enough baskets to cover all the trees in preparation.

As ever we split up to cover more ground. Although in the dark, I couldn’t help but feel like we were walking into a horror film. In the darkest hours before dawn, Sweet Apple Acres, and particularly the bare trees in the zap apple orchards, can look quite foreboding. Still, at least I was with Applejack. And in every horror film, the blonde always survives, so I figured I was fairly safe. AJ and I would set up one part of the orchard, Big Mac another, and Granny Smith and Apple Bloom the last one.

My being on hoof allowed AJ the luxury of leaving the lanterns for Mac and Granny. My own horn gave of plenty of light, although here, the light blue colour of my magic only increased the eeriness of our surroundings. And this wasn’t just me being paranoid either. There were over excited timberwolves out there after all.

Still, as time wore on, the coming dawn became more and more evident as the reddish glow on the horizon increased, slowly giving us more light to work by. By degrees, it was soon light enough for us to see without me using my horn. Soon enough, the trees around us looked far less unnerving. We’d made decent progress too, considering we were working in the dark for the most part, with only a bit of moonlight and my horn to light our way.

---

With the baskets all set up around the zap apple trees, we now moved onto the next set of jobs. One of the few disadvantages that comes with making zap apple jam is that you invariably ruin whatever cookware you’re using, so new pots and pans need to be bought specially for making the jam. We also needed to stock up on fresh honey, which was a key ingredient. To accomplish these tasks, Granny Smith took Apple Bloom into Ponyville to buy some fresh cookware, as well as stop by the local apiary to collect honey. Now, Sweet Apple Acres does have its own hives as well mind you. But they don’t produce enough for us to use for the zap apple harvest. Not without starving the hives at any rate. So we supplemented it with honey bought from other apiaries in town. And while Granny Smith was there, I had the task of collecting the take from the farm’s own bees.

Now, just to be clear, I have nothing against bees. They’re a key part of our ecosystem, I love honey, and I always found it alarming how casually people took the alarming nosedive in the bee population back on Earth. However, I’ve never been particularly comfortable around them. It mainly comes down to an incident when it was a child. I saw a bumble bee in my grandma’s garden and was about to poke at it, when she stopped me and told me that bees sting people. The lesson, while intended to teach me that it isn’t a good idea to antagonise bees (after all, in contrast to wasps, who are a nothing less than a shower of bastards, bees rarely bother you if you don’t bother them. Remember, stinging for them is a kamikaze move) instead left five year old me with a strong association with bees and being stung by them. I’ve never been stung in my entire life, but I still get pretty scared around bees. As in I tend to leg it if I see one. So you can understand why I wasn’t too keen on going near the apiary; something I usually left to Applejack.

This year though, I had determined to face up to this groundless fear. After all, in Equestria, bees were far more sapient than their Terran counterparts. I’d be wearing a full beekeeping suit too, and would have a good smoker on hand to calm the bees while the strange white suited giant pinched some of their honey. And, of course, I had Applejack on hoof to help me.

The beehives were effectively a series of pallets, stacked vertically in a small, raised shed, which had openings for bees to fly in and out. At the top of this, which was where you gained access, were the workers and drones. The deeper you went into the hive, the closer you got to the queen. As it was midsummer now, we’d only be taking enough for the jam, and certainly wouldn’t be disturbing the queen.

As we approached the hive, I saw a few bees buzzing around, and could hear the dreadful buzzing from within. I felt more than a little apprehensive. Applejack was quick to reassure me.

“Don’t you worry none, Bones,” she said encouragingly. “This time of day, most of the bees are off lookin’ for nectar. Now I’ll lift the lid on the hive, and you give ‘em a good blast from that smoker you’ve got there.”

The smoker was a small metal can, not unlike a watering jug, with a small hose coming from the top leading to a hand pumped nozzle. Inside the can was a bunch of old newspapers. I’d light them on fire, creating smoke, which I could then pump out into the hive. This would do two things. First, it would calm the bees and stop their natural defence response. When you see bees out on their own or around flowers, they’re actually far less likely to be aggressive; they only get like that when they’re protecting their hive. But in addition to stunning them somewhat, the smoke would convince them that there was fire near the hive, and thus they needed to flee, so they would gorge themselves on honey, making them more docile. All in all, it would make them far less hostile towards us while we’ borrowed’ some of their honey.

Lifting the lid on the smoker, I briefly set off a small spark from my horn. It was more than enough to light the newspapers within. I quickly closed the lid to reduce oxygen and make for a more smokey fire. With the done, AJ and I pulled the veils down on our hats and she removed the lid from the hive.

At once, the buzzing, which was previously only a dull background noise, turned into something that clearly said ‘angry’. The bees knew that something was invading their hive, and quickly went on the attack. I felt the urge to run at the unsettling noise, never mind the modest swarm that now began to buzz around us trying to figure out what we were. Luckily, before I lost my nerve, I felt Applejack at my side.

“It’s okay, sugarcube,” she said softly. “Just give ‘em a whiff of that smoke and they’ll calm down.”

And so I did. Pumping the handle a couple of times with my hoof, I let the smoke fill the air above the hive. The angry buzzing from the swarm around us died down a little, and the bees began to return to the hive. Following up on this, I sprayed the upper layers of the hive too, and before long, the bees, whilst still an unsettling mass of black and yellow that were making a modest racket, seemed to calm somewhat as they began to feed on their stores of honey.

“There we go,” AJ said. “Good job, Bones! Now let’s get to work.”

Carefully, we began to remove four of the six frames. The other two would be left for the bees. We could hardly let the little blighters starve, now could we? Each frame, on both sides, was covered in a white coloured wax. The bees only applied this when they’d filled the area up with honey. And speaking of the bees, they now had to be gently shaken off the frames and returned back to the hive. A few continued to buzz around us, but I felt fairly safe with a full suit on, covering all my exposed hide, as well as a veil stopping them from getting too close to my face. The only bit of me exposed was my horn, and while I could occasionally feel one of them briefly land on it, given that it was solid, they couldn’t sting it even if they wanted to.

With the frames removed, AJ and I first began to scrape away the white wax covering, exposing the golden honey underneath. We had to shoo the odd bee away every now and again, and I made sure to regularly give the hive a bit more smoke to keep them chilled out.

With the wax removed, Applejack brought over an extractor. This large steel, drum shaped contraption, was essentially a centrifuge. You placed the honey laden frames inside, and then, by way of a crank, spun the frames inside. The centrifugal force would extract the honey, without damaging the wax honeycomb itself, saving the bees a lot of work when we replaced the frames. The two of us loaded the four frames inside. Each was stocked to the gills with honey, and would provide more than enough for the zap apple jam we planned to make. Placing the lid back on, AJ began to work the crank, and slowly but surely, fresh honey began to flow from the spout at the bottom. I quickly got a jar in place and slowly but surely we filled up around a dozen or so jars with honey.

After exhausting the supply, we removed the frames and repeated the whole process in reverse. Returning the empty frames to the bees, they quickly now began to crawl over them, eating what honey the extractor missed. As I watched the squirming mass of insects, I couldn’t help but see how similar they were to changelings. After all, size and intelligence aside, they did both originate from the same genus. I wonder, would smoke, properly applied to a changeling hive produce a similar calming effect? While we may be allies now, it has been one of my pet projects to find a way to defend against changeling incursion, and particularly a means by which to locate and neutralise the renegade Chrysalis. Even after all this time, mass screening was not viable with the equipment and magic at our disposal. I wonder, would blasting her in the face with smoke render her drowsy? Or would it send her into a rabid feeding frenzy, draining the love from everycreature around her?

There’s a horrifying thought.

But back to bees. Having replaced the frames in the hive, Applejack and I watched the insects return again. The effects of the smoke were beginning to wear off.

“Not too bad, Bones,” Applejack commended. “For somepony who was scared silly of bees not so long ago, y’all sure have come a long way.” I smiled as I placed the lid back on the hive and removed my hat and veil. It was damn stifling in this heat.

“Yeah, well, I was wearin’ a full protective suit,” I replied, “And we’d got ‘em doped up like anythin’. Really it weren’t….ow!”

I was startled by a sudden sharp pain on my foreleg, the one part of me that was always exposed. Pulling my hoof up, I saw, just above the fetlock, a small little welt, and in the centre, a black stinger. One of the little buggers had stung me. I guess the smoke was starting to wear off and he was pissed that we were so close to the hive.

AJ quickly grabbed the small first aid kit she kept on hoof and set to work carefully removing the stinger. As she did so, I couldn’t help but realise something. It had hardly hurt. My grandmother’s warning had made a bee sting out to be a most painful affair. She’d described it as being the most painful thing she’d ever felt (this was only a few weeks after I got out of hospital after I got badly scalded), so my mind had played it up to be the worst thing imaginable. But it was more like a nettle sting or pin prick. Perhaps a little more painful, but not by much. As Applejack pulled the stringer out, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea that I was ever afraid of such a trivial thing.

As the two of us loaded the jars into a small cart to take back to the house, the sky suddenly turned overcast, and the both of us looked skyward as we heard a rumble of thunder.

We weren’t too far from the zap apple orchards right now. We were close enough to see what was going on at any rate. The trees, flying in the face of basic physics, began to spark with electricity as the air filled with static, instead of charring or burning like they ought to. As the electrical energy raced over their trunks and began to arc between the branches, the first stage of their rapid growth cycle commenced.

Seemingly in an instant, dark green leaves appeared all over the trees. Only a few at first, but in a matter of moments the trees were covered, looking not unlike their cousins, albeit a far darker colour, and in need of a good pruning. Due to their odd nature, the Apples of yore had discovered that Zap Apple trees didn’t take kindly to pruning, or any other maintenance.

“There’s the second sign,” Applejack declared. “C’mon. We best get a move on. Granny and Apple Bloom should be back soon with the new pots and pans. We best get to painting.”

---

Ah yes, the temporary painting we had to do, all over the kitchen. A lot of the zap apple process is based on the notion that “it worked the last time”. The reasons why zap apples like polka dots, considering they lack higher brain function, or a brain at all, and thus ought to be incapable of liking or disliking anything, is seen as somewhat besides the point. What is important is that when the kitchen is painted all over with polka dots, the zap apple jam tastes better, and we get a better harvest.

I did try to do a full study on zap apples a few years back, with a view to producing a monograph on them. I endeavoured to study their potential origins, their biology, and in general, find out what made them tick. But outside of the harvest time, zap apple trees are most unaccommodating to the budding scientist. Any attempts to run tests of the trees were met with mild electric shocks, and they appeared to not even react to changes in their environment. Like a lot of things born of the wild magic of the Everfree, they were difficult, if not outright impossible to understand. I experienced the same problem when I tried to make a study of Poison Joke. The infernal flowers when subjected to chemical tests would throw out different results each time, and just as with the zap apple trees, appeared to have a will of their own to not be studied.

So, with time, as with Pinkie Sense, I’ve learned to just accept the world as it is presented to me. I cannot explain why zap apples like polka dots, how they like polka dots, or even why polka dots in particular. All I know is that they do.

Hence why, AJ, Big Mac, and I found ourselves busily painting away in the kitchen, covering the walls with polka dots of varying sizes, covering the table with a polka dot table cloth, and even getting Winona to wear a special polka dot coat, so that she looked more like a Dalmatian than a collie.

“Careful, Big Mac,” I said as the stallion inadvertently splashed a dollop of paint on me. “Y’all are gonna have me covered in polka dots if ya ain’t careful.”

Luckily, for obvious reasons, the paint wasn’t waterproof. Once the zap apple jam was made, we’d wash the emerging modern art off of the walls.

“Ya never know,” Applejack replied. “Might be the zap apples like ponies covered in polka dots.”

“No way!” I exclaimed

“Nnope!” Big Mac trumpeted, fully agreeing with me.

“Oh I’m just messin with y’all,” Applejack reassured us teasingly. “You gotta learn to laugh at yourself a little more, Bones. Maybe this year you can help out by singing to the water.”

Oh sweet Celestia herself, no!

“Not in a million moons, Applejack,” I said. “Ain’t no way, no how, y’all are dressin’ me up in a bunny suit and makin’ me hop over waterin’ cans while I sing the alphabet song.”

I don’t usually consider myself a stereotype, but I do fit the bill when it comes to British stuffiness, something I inherited from my dad. I have a Hell of a time letting go, having fun, and laughing at myself, as does he. I remember once, when my dad first started working for Celestia, she hugged him. The old man lightly rebuffed her with the phrase. ‘No hugs please. I’m British. We only show affection to our dogs and our horses’. That made Celestia giggle.

“I don’t see why ya get so wound up about it, Bones,” AJ went on.

“AJ! It’s embarrassin’!” I replied.

“Yeah, so?” she replied. “It’s not like anypony here’s gonna laugh at you. Besides, it ain’t like ya gotta do exactly what Granny Smith does. Singing to the water is meant to give it a bit of music magic. It don’t need to be the same song every time.”

Ah, that was interesting. I had thought that that was where the need for singing came from. Music in Equestria, in case you hadn’t figured it out by way of the synchronised, unrehearsed musical numbers, is a form of magic. Singing to the water gave it a bit of that magic, just as it did ponies. I suppose that helps the zap apple trees grow stronger by giving a boost to their innate magic.

Applejack’s point that the song and consequently costumes didn’t need to be the same though, struck a chord with me. I’m not adverse to performing or acting. Back in high school, I was even in a few plays. I just never could stand stuff that got the audience to laugh at you. Call it partly the national stereotype, and partly the result of childhood bullying. I didn’t fear public performances, I just preferred not to do them.

Well, I’d gotten over a far worse fear earlier today. Perhaps I could use the momentum to break free of another. Celestia knows I would like to be able to cut loose a little more often. It’s certainly one of my more major flaws. Because of it, I don’t dance at Pinkie’s parties, could never get into drama or acting, and in general can come across as having a bit of a stick up my rear end, at least Rainbow Dash thinks so. While there is a time and a place for a stiff upper lip and all that, there was also a time for opening up and learning to laugh at yourself.

And this was one of those times.

---

Work halted for dinner. We were doing pretty well so far. With Apple Bloom and I helping to boost our overall ponypower, we were well on our way to being ready for the harvest in a couple of days. Tomorrow, we would no doubt see the third sign, when the blossoms would appear on the trees. Tomorrow, our main task would be watering all the zap apple trees, and ensuring they got plenty of nutrition to help them with their rapid growth.

But while watering all those trees on its own would take up most of the day, the dozens of watering cans, all filled to the brim, needed to be imbued with magical energy too. Music magic, as I’ve come to call it, dissipates very quickly, having a very short half life as it were. So it wasn’t as if we could slowly build up reserves in preparation. We needed to energise the water and use it on the day, by sundown at the latest.

Now, normally, I help out watering the trees, but draw the line at singing and dressing up. However, Applejack’s suggestion that we could use different songs and music had given me an idea. While dressing up with rabbit ears and singing the alphabet song was a bit beyond the pale, there were several alternatives I was willing to settle for. It’s not as if I have a bad singing voice either. While I would never make it on the stage, I was quite capable of singing lullabies to Apple Bloom, and routinely would come out with songs while we were working in the fields. That’s what being forced to attend church and sing hymns for fifteen years gets you I suppose.

While I was willing to sing my heart out, Granny Smith however, had pointed out the zap apples also liked the costume side of things. How that’s possible, I have no idea. But as I said before, zap apples are like Pinkie Sense; you just have to accept them.

So, that afternoon, I headed into Ponyville to ask a favour of a friend.

Making my way through the quieter town, as the sun hung low in the sky and ponies retired to their homes, I soon found my way to Carousel Boutique, the home and business of Rarity; Equestria’s foremost fashion designers. While she may typically design for mares, I know in a pinch, she’s willing to expand her horizons. In the past, she’s made me a rather dashing grey shell jacket as part of a Nightmare Night costume. It was getting near to her usual closing time, and I would be quite happy to set the matter aside if she was too busy. The last thing I wanted to do was take advantage of her well known generosity.

Coming to the door, I headed inside, the bell above the door letting out a soft chime as I passed through. I found myself on the shop floor, surrounded by ponyquins (at least I think that’s the right term) wearing some of Rarity’s latest designs. Of the fashionista herself though, there was no sign.

“Just a minute!” I heard her call from somewhere in the back of the store, which also doubled as her home. A moment later, she appeared in the doorway.

She was evidently working on some design or other, since she was sporting those red framed glasses, which have always reminded me of the fiery secretary my dad used to have at his office. She was well known for keeping clients in line. Even some of the nastier regulars, convicted for violent offences, knew not to cheese her off. Luckily, Rarity is rarely that irritable, even when her work consumes her. She looked a little surprised to see me, no doubt expecting a more typical customer.

“Oh, Blade Star,” she said, a small note of surprise in her voice. “What brings you to my humble establishment.”

“A small commission,” I replied kindly as I removed my hat. “If y’all have the time that is. Applejack’s got me roped into singing to the watering cans for the zap apple harvest, and I need a costume.”

“Really?” Rarity said, nonplussed. “I must confess I never understood those strange zap apples. Although the jam is simply divine. What sort of outfit are you looking for?”

“Something reminiscent of the navy, from a couple hundred years ago. A navy tunic, with gold buttons and epaulettes, and a black bicorne hat. I’ve got a jacket you can adapt for it.” Rarity paused and thought for a moment.

“Hmm, ordinarily, I’d be happy to lend a friend a helping hoof,” she said. “But as luck would have it, an old friend has dropped by who might be of even more help. Oh Elusive?”

She turned back to the door she had come from a few moments ago. I recognised the name; Elusive was my dad’s tailor, from Canterlot no less. He operates a fairly well to do, if fairly small, store in a quieter corner of the city. His customers have included Royal Guard officers, nobles, and of course, Equestria’s only human government minister. There’s also a rather peculiar rumour going around that once upon a time, he worked for shadowy GSB, the Griffon Security Bureau; the Griffon Kingdom’s infamous secret police, and may have even been involved with the allegedly non-existent SMILE organisation.

But allegations of double agents and nonsensical hearsay aside, he is renowned as an excellent tailor as shown by my old man’s many impressive suits. What caught me off guard, as he walked in to join us, was his appearance.

He was an older stallion, older than me and probably Rarity, but younger than my dad. I’d say he was probably around Mr Cake’s or Filthy Rich’s age. What surprised me was just how similar he was to Rarity herself. They looked almost like siblings. As with Rarity, he was a unicorn and had a pure white coat, with a purple mane and tail, although his mane was done up in a far more masculine style and had the odd tinge of grey. Even his eyes were somewhat similar, being a striking grey blue that reminded me of a husky dog. His cutie mark, in contrast to Rarity’s though, was a coiled length of measuring tape. Like a lot of Canterlot ponies, he wore clothes as a matter of course, at the moment sporting a deep crimson waistcoat with black velvet at the back ,which offset quite nicely against his white coat. Around his neck was a tape measure, hanging like a stethoscope. Our eyes met as he walked in.

“Yes, Rarity...oh! I didn’t realise you had a guest.”

“Elusive, darling,” Rarity said formally. “This is Blade Star, one my dear friends here in Ponyville.” The stallion came over to shake my hoof.

“Ah yes, you’re Roger’s son, aren’t you?” he said. “You often crop up in conversations when I’m doing alterations for him.”

“Good things I hope?” I replied kindly.

“Oh, but of course, young man. He’s told me quite a bit about your magical studies.” Rarity now gently interjected.

“Blade Star here has something that I think would be suited to your services,” she said.

I briefly summarised the reason for my visit and held up the navy blue coat that I’d selected. Elusive looked it over carefully.

“Hmm, yes,” he said after closely inspecting it for a few moments. “I ought to be just about able to do something with this. I couldn’t perhaps trouble you, Mr Star, to just step in here and let me take your measurements?”

“Sure,” I agreed.

The three of us headed back into Rarity’s work room. Elusive quickly went to work, measuring me all over, taking measurements for my shoulders, forelegs and hind legs, my barrel, chest, and even my collar. He was very quick in his ways though, the tape measure floating through the air in his magic, while a small notepad and pencil in the same jotted down my measurements. A few minutes later, he delivered his verdict.

“Yes,” he said, partly to himself. “I should be able to whip up something suitable for you. Would you be able to come back tomorrow morning? Rarity here has been kind enough to put me up for the night while I’m in town visiting.”

“Sure,” I replied. “It’ll take a while to get everythin’ set up anyway. I’ll swing by as soon as I can.”

With that, I left the apparent twins and headed back up to the farm.

---

The following morning, I repeated my trip down to Carousel Boutique. Elusive, to his credit, had stayed up a little later than he would have liked, altering the coat, and modifying it as I’d requested it. He was even kind enough to furnish me with a bicorne hat, and standing in front of the mirror on the small dais in Rarity’s shop, I looked every inch as though I’d just stepped off a 38 gun frigate that had pulled into Portsmouth after a long period stationed with the Channel Fleet.

Returning again to Sweet Apple Acres, I found everypony hard at work manning the pumps, to slip into naval parlance, and filling up all the watering cans. There were probably around two dozen or so all together; more than enough for the zap apple trees.

As I returned, Big Mac trotted up to join me. As our resident member of the Ponytones, I’d enlisted him in my little sing song. One of Big Mac’s many good qualities is that he has an undeniably brilliant baritone, and an excellent ear to boot. He provides the bass to every number in the Ponytones, while altos like Rarity provide the high notes. He too had dressed himself up, with a similar blue jacket over a red and white horizontal striped shirt. Atop his head was a straw brimmed hat. All in all, he looked very much like a midshipman of the period too.

“Well, Mac,” I said as I met up with him. “Don’t we both look ridiculous?”

“Eeyup,” he agreed. “But if the zap apples like it, I ain’t gonna complain. I’m just glad I’m not dressing up like a rabbit or something.”

Like me, Big Mac has staunchly stayed well away from singing to the water in the past, neither of us wanting to risk our masculine pride.

“What are we singing anyway?” he asked. I answered his question, with one of my own.

“Have you ever heard of Gilbert and Sullivan, Mac?” I asked. The red stallion paused and thought for a moment.

“I don’t think so,” he said after a moment, shaking his head. “Are they new ponies in town or somethin’?”

I gave Mac a look that could only be described as half pity, and half disgust. To be fair, how could you expect a pony, with little knowledge of another world to know two relatively obscure figures from two centuries ago?

“They’re composers, Mac,” I explained. “From the nineteenth century. This is some music from one of their plays.”

Mac just eyed me and the music suspiciously. Just like me, at times he could be a very reserved kind of pony, and while he had no qualms about public performances, he was a little worried about potential teasing from his sisters and grandmother in the future. Still I brought him up to speed, taught him the lyrics and harmonies. We’d be singing together, and his baritone would come in very handy.

The two of us returned and joined Applejack, Apple Bloom and Granny Smith just as they were finishing up. Applejack had been on the hand pump, while AB and her grandmother carried the watering cans. As we walked up, Applejack, in that wonderful blunt way of hers that comes with being the Element of Honesty, passed judgement on our outfits.

“Land sakes!” she exclaimed with a chuckle. “You two look like you’ve escaped from some high society froufrou party.” Mac snorted.

“Do you want us to sing or not?” I countered. That got her to be quiet.

Granny and AB had lined the watering cans up for us. Since we weren’t playing rabbits, we didn’t need to hop over them, and instead treated them more like an audience.

I’d picked a decent number. I may be a citizen of Equestria these days, but it was still close to my heart and stirred just a touch of patriotic fervour for the old mother country. Plus, I hoped the happy, celebratory sounding tune would please the zap apples. If they like the alphabet song, they ought to love this. As we prepared, unseen instruments began to play as the strange music of magi kicked in. And so, doing my best to look the part in my uniform, I began to sing, with Big Mac helping out.

The positive energy from the music would charge up the water with magic, helping to feed the zap apple trees. It also, I dare say, provided some amusement for AJ and the other mares in the family. She was right though, it is nice to be able to laugh at yourself from time to time.

With the water now ready to go, it was time to fall back to more familiar work and water the trees. Heading briefly back into the farmhouse, I changed out my naval attire and emerged a minute or so later as Blade Star the farmer again, with only my stetson for clothing. A good thing too, since it was getting hotter and hotter as the day drew on.

We all picked up as many watering cans as we could carry. I managed five myself; two slung in the saddlebags, one with the handle held in my mouth, and two floating along in my magic. Between us, we had plenty to water the trees.

The zap apple trees still looked unusually bare for this time of year. Most of the normal apple trees were beginning to form fruit on their branches now, with the blossoms long since having blown away. These trees though, continued to only have a few leaves so far, looking as if it was still early spring. Of course, this didn’t mean anything was amiss with them. This was just how the zap apple trees grew and matured. It was just strange, and perhaps a little unsettling, to see these comparatively bare trees when we were not all that far from Applebuck Season. Still, the leaves they had did at least give us some shade as we made our way through the orchards.

“You know, AJ,” I said, as I used my magic to gently pour water onto the roots of one of the trees. “We ought to consider investin’ in some sort of irrigation system. It sure would make this a whole lot easier.”

Sprinklers and such were a perfectly common occurrence in Equestria, and with the nearby lake, we had an ideal water source. We could run hoses and pipes all through the orchards, maybe even set up some sort of remote control system or timing device to control it all. It would mean a lot of work, but it would be a great help in the long term. It was certainly better than what we were doing now; pumping water at the farmhouse and then carrying watering cans all over the farm.

“That sort of thing’s real expensive, Bones,” she replied. “And it takes an awful lot of work to keep it all goin’. One leak somewhere and we could lose a whole lot of water. And ya know this time of year, that’s real precious resource.”

“I just think it would take up less energy than what we’re doin’ here,” I replied. “I know the Apples value tradition and so forth, but even with five ponies, it’s a whole lot of work just to water the zap apple trees. Think of all the time we’d save with a proper irrigation system.”

“Feller does have a point,” Granny Smith agreed. “Celestia knows I ain’t gettin’ any younger. Only problem is trying to find time to build somethin’ like that. Applebuck Season comes almost right after the zap apple harvest, then we’re onto cider season. Come winter, the ground’s too hard to dig and install all that stuff without riskin’ a pipe burstin’ somewhere from the frost. And by the time Winter Wrap Up rolls around, we’re back to gettin’ everything ready for the summer again.”

“Why not just get a few ponies to help out in the spring?” Apple Bloom suggested. “Or get some of the Apple family down here to help. We could maybe make it somethin’ to do at the reunion.”

“Now there’s an idea!” I agreed.

The reunion happened between the zap apple harvest and Applebuck Season. It was only a short affair of a couple days, but if those ponies could completely rebuild the barn in that time, why not do this. At the very least, with their help we could get the hard part of digging the ditches and laying the main pipes done. After that, we could work on it as and when, having it ready for the next spring.

As we continued to chat about this latest improvement to Sweet Apple Acres, and Granny Smith went off on a tangent about how watering cans were once seen as black magic, we were interrupted as a storm began to brew overhead.

Seemingly out of nowhere, dark storm clouds gathered, covering the sky in an endless grey. A strong wind kicked up too. It was unusually chilly for this time of year and made me steel myself against it. The branches of the zap apple trees bowed and rocked in the wind, while the leaves rustled around us. Up in the sky, we saw a flock of crows fly overhead, crowing ominously. All in all, it was a very Gothic scene, reminiscent of something Edgar Allen Poe might write.

A moment later, and the trees all buzzed with that same electrical energy as before. Here we are; this was the third sign. A moment later, the apple blossoms appeared in the branches, as if spring had suddenly returned in the middle of July.

“There’s the third sign!” Applejack declared as the storm clouds vanished as suddenly as they had come. “We ought to see the fourth by tonight I reckon. Well, at least we’re pretty much ready now for the harvest. What do y’all say to takin’ a break?”

“Eeyup!” Big Mac said solemnly.

---

That evening found me perched on the edge of Apple Bloom’s bed, the little filly herself tucked in and fairly tired, but still demanding a bedtime story from yours truly. I think she likes just how removed they are from Equestria, so different, and almost alien, and yet can at the same time be so familiar. I’d switched out Bible stories this evening for something a little different, albeit still with morals and messages.

I’d told her a few stories of El-ahrairah before, and she’d loved them. Even more curiously, Fluttershy’s evil pet, on interview, seemed to recognise them, suggesting that they were another point of overlap between our two worlds.

Now, for those of you unfamiliar, allow me to explain. El-ahrairah (pronounced ella-hrare-rah, with hrair rhyming with fair and the emphasis on syllables following the phrase ‘never say die’) is a rabbit folk hero, at least according to Richard Adams in his book Watership Down. In the rabbit creation myth, El-ahrairah was the first rabbit, and hailed as the prince of all rabbits. His people overpopulated the world, prompting the sun god, Frith, to create the enemies, or elil to use the Lapine, of rabbits, such as foxes, dogs, badgers, hawks, and stoats. His name is a contraction of the words elil (meaning enemy), hrair (any number beyond four, in this context a thousand), and rah (a suffix denoting authority, such as Lord). Translated into literal English, or Ponish, he is the Prince with a Thousand Enemies. And he’s always one step ahead.

To rabbits, El-ahrairah is like Robin Hood, and through clever tricks and cunning schemes he has saved his people time and again. He continues to inspire his descendants to this day with tales of his many adventures, from the ludicrous, such as The King’s Lettuce, to the downright terrifying, like El-ahrairah and the Black Rabbit of Inlé.

That particular story, along with The Hole in the Sky, I reserve solely for Nightmare Night. But there are plenty of others that are far less scary and make for good stories. Tonight though, I let Apple Bloom pick, since she was the one who’d asked for a tale of El-ahrairah.

“Okay, Apple Bloom,” I said as I made myself comfortable. “What story do you want to hear? Rowsby Woof and the Fairy Wogdog? Or maybe The Trial of El-ahrairah?”

“The Blessing of El-ahrairah” Apple Bloom replied, yawning a little.

Ah, the rabbits’ creation myth. The story of how El-ahrairah and his people overpopulated the land and angered Frith, the sun god, prompting him to bring forth the elil; the thousand enemies of rabbits. Settling down, I began to retell the old story to Apple Bloom.

Seeing the danger he had put himself in, and fearing for his people, El-ahrairah fled and began to desperately dig a hole to hide himself in, when Frith appeared. Frith said how every other creature in the world had come before him to be blessed with a unique gift. The cat had been given eyes that could see in the dark, the dog was given sharp teeth, the owl was given silent wings, and to all of these, Frith gave the desire to hunt and slay the children of El-ahrairah. Only El-ahrairah had not appeared.

But El-ahrairah wasn’t giving up just yet. Even though he knew he could not outwit Frith and knew that he had angered him, and that he could kill El-ahrairah in an instant, he was determined to try, and as he continued to dig, he replied that he was far too busy, and that if Frith wanted to bless any part of him, he would have to bless his bottom.

Frith, of course, obliged. El-ahrairah’s tail grew shining white to confuse his foes, his back legs grew long and powerful, giving him speed, and his ears stood up tall on his head, letting him hear for miles around. Armed with these gifts, El-ahrairah took off across the hills with his people, evading the elil at every turn. I felt a smile on my lips as I related the final verse, which to this day stokes the fires of courage in any rabbit, and the odd pony or human.

“El-ahrairah, your people cannot rule the world, for I will not have it so. All the world shall be your enemy, Prince with a Thousand Enemies,” I said solemnly to Apple Bloom, who was listening with close attention. “And whenever they catch you, they will kill you. But first, they must catch you. Digger, listener, runner. Prince with the swift warning. Be cunning, and full of tricks, and your people shall never be destroyed.”

This was the ancient promise made by Frith. As much as, at times, he found El-ahrairah irritating and annoying to the point that he seemed to set the entire world against him, he had a need for him. He needed someone to jest and play tricks to confound all the other creatures, and he admired him for his determination to survive, despite the odds. So he would never kill him. I watched as Apple Bloom’s eyes began to close, just as I came to the end of the story.

“And when Frith’s has done his day’s work, and he lies calm and easy in the red sky, El-ahrairah, and his children, and his children’s children, come out of their holes and feed and play in his sight, for they are his friends, and he has promised them that they can never be destroyed.”

With that, the little filly fell fast asleep, snoring softly. I smiled to myself.

“Y’all have a real knack for storytellin’, Bones,” a voice said quietly, close at hoof.

I jumped with a start, fortunately not waking Apple Bloom up again. Turning to the doorway, I found Applejack, minus her hat and with her mane down around her shoulders. I relaxed at the sight of her. She likes how good I am taking care of Apple Bloom. I suppose it is a good way to judge character. I just sometimes worry that I’m treading on Big Mac’s hooves a bit. After all, there’s no way I can replace him, to say nothing of the venerable Bright Mac.

“Oh I’m just repeatin’ somethin’ written by somepony on my old world. Ask me to tell my own story, made up on the spot, and y’all will soon find I ain’t much of an author.”

“Still,” AJ replied. “You’re the one she asks for when it comes to bedtime stories.” I blushed shyly at that. According to Rarity, one of the things that got Applejack interested in me was how good I was with Apple Bloom. ‘Husband material’ as she put it.

“What are y’all still doin’ up anyway?” I asked her as she leaned languidly against the doorway.

“Granny reckons the next sign might come tonight. She wanted me to keep an eye out. Fancy stayin’ up with me a bit?”

Ah yes, the fourth sign was a meteor shower, and the burst of magic that followed would prompt the zap apples themselves to appear. After that, there was only one more stage, and then they were ready to harvest. Not that you could harvest a zap apple before it was ripe. One of my little projects last year was to try and get the unripe fruit for testing. Everything I tried resulting in an increasingly severe electric shock, as if I was genuinely testing the tree’s patience with my repeated efforts.

But enough about zap apples. I had a chance to stay up late with my marefriend and relax underneath the starry skies. What idiot would say no to that?

“Sure,” I said, keeping my voice low so as to not wake the sleeping filly.

The two of us carefully extricated ourselves from the room and gently closed the door behind us. Apple Bloom didn’t make a sound.

Trotting down the stairs, I found that Applejack had pretty much closed everything down for the night. The kitchen was dark now, with everything put away and the stove fire banked. In the moonlight that streamed through the windows, you could easily make out the polka dots though. The living room was dark as well, with only a few small embers of an earlier fire remaining. Heading out through the stable style door, we found the world once again calm and quiet. The moon, which hung high above us, gave enough light to see by, but there was hardly any sound, apart from a slight breeze, and the babbling of the nearby stream. I took a breath, breathing in the cool night air.

“And to think,” I said softly looking up at the stars. “Most ponies just sleep through this every night.”

“Well, not everywhere gets the view we do,” AJ replied. “Remember when we were up in Canterlot for the Summer Sun Celebration? All night long, you could see the moon, but hardly any stars.”

“That’s light pollution for you, AJ,” I replied. “The lights from the city drown out the starlight. It used to be like that for me when I lived in a town. It wasn’t until my family moved out to the countryside that I really started to appreciate the night.”

“I can’t imagine livin’ like that,” AJ replied. “Manehattan taught me to leave big cities well enough alone. They’re noisy, bustlin’, and the ponies in ‘em aren’t exactly friendly a lot of the time.”

“Eh, they’re not so bad,” I replied. “Everythin’ a pony needs is on your doorstep, shops, doctors, school. You don’t have to walk miles just to get the paper or visit the library. And they actually run buses near to where you live.”

Applejack looked at me perplexedly.

“What the hay are buses?” she asked, as if I’d just started nattering on about quantum theory. I couldn’t help but laugh.

I was about to explain the idea of a very large motorised wagon, filled with strange people, driven by other strange people who have no concept of mirrors or checking them before pulling out into traffic, that you use to travel around at a slow pace and in general discomfort, with a good chance of catching something off of one of the passengers. Before I could do that though, luckily for AJ, our attention was once again drawn skyward.

While the night sky is a beautiful thing to look up at for hours on end, it is largely a static piece of artwork. Of course, when you get right down to it, everything in the universe, including this planet was spinning at thousands of miles an hour, but you didn’t exactly notice that most of the time. However, from time to time, you do catch the odd bit of movement, and that was what we were seeing now. Streaking through the sky, we saw dozens of little white dashes of light; meteors burning up in the atmosphere. We both let out gasps of amazement as the show began. I’d seen the odd shooting star before, but never this many. It was better than the old Windows screensaver.

As the meteor shower intensified, the magic in the zap apple trees once again activated. As a strong gust of wind blew through the trees, the zap apples began to appear in their branches one by one. We watched as the trees lit up with occasional flashes as each new fruit appeared. Of course, they weren’t ready for harvest yet. If you went out to the orchards for a look, you’d see that the apples, while fully formed, lacked their signature rainbow colouring, instead being various shades of grey and black. By tomorrow though, that would change.

Just as suddenly as it had come, the amazing meteor shower over the farm ended, and the sky returned to just a deep blue filled with shimmering stars. AJ and I stayed up a while longer, sitting on the cool grass, picking out constellations. Eventually, as I found myself yawning, I figured it was time to hit the hay.

“I reckon we’ll be harvestin’ by noon tomorrow. Come on. We’d better get some sleep.”

Applejack though was one step ahead of me. The mare was now softly snoring on the soft grass. Stifling a chuckle, I got to my hooves and activated my magic. Gently lifting her up, I got her draped over my back and, taking the strain, headed inside. Heading upstairs with my unusual load, I took her to her room and got her tucked into bed, before I retired to my own.

---

The following morning, I found myself waking up even earlier than usual. There was no doubt in my mind that today would be the first day of the very short harvest. Any time now, we’d see the final sign. We’d get one more rogue storm front appear over the orchards, and then an incredible rainbow would race through the trees, giving each of the zap apples their signature colour, while at the same time, making them safe to harvest. If you tried to kick one of the trees now, the best you’d get would be a nasty electric shock.

Throwing off the bed covers, I quickly set about my usual morning routine. Throwing open the covers, I took a look out at the world. It was still pretty early yet. The sun had probably only come up about an hour or so ago, and the grass still had a fine coat of dew. At first, I was content to just take in the beautiful scene. I figured we’d have a few things to do before the harvest. The chickens would need to be fed, the pigs too. With any luck, we might even get a chance to milk the cows before the final sign arrived.

This nice, easy going little plan lasted right up until the moment the cockerel, already irritated by the lack of food for his hens, jumped up on top of the chicken coop and made his displeasure known. Letting out his well practised crow, which would no doubt wake the whole farm, I was startled out of my early morning sleepiness.

You see, at this time of year, the apple trees were all starting to bear fruit. Amidst the green leaves, you could see little splashes of red, orange, green, and yellow, as the fruit slowly formed in the branches. It wasn’t until I took a closer look at the zap apple trees that I realised something.

They were multicoloured!

The last sign must have come very early this morning, just after sunrise! The zap apples were ready to harvest now. And more to the point, the clock was now ticking down to when any remaining apples not harvested would vanish again. We should have been up and harvesting a couple of hours ago.

With no time to waste, I forgot about making my bed or making myself in any way presentable. Instead I rushed out of my room and into the hall. Going back and forth banging on each door as I went, I endeavoured to wake everypony.

“Wake up, everypony!” I hollered. “The fifth sign’s been and gone! We need to get harvestin’!”

Eventually, my efforts brought a slightly weary looking Applejack to her bedroom door. My brief panic and alarm was checked for a moment as I got a look at her with my mane down around her shoulders. I’ve been tempted to say she should wear her mane down more often.

“Bones,” she said, wiping the sleep from her eyes with a hoof. “What in the name of Celestia are ya goin’ on about?”

“It’s the zap apples, AJ,” I said urgently. “They’re rainbow coloured. They’re ready to harvest!”

The realisation hit Applejack in pretty much the same way as it hit me, and before long, we were both doing our best to wake everypony else up.

---

A very hurried breakfast later, and we were all out in the orchards. We hadn’t even gotten up and we were already behind schedule! We’d have to really pull our non-existent fingers out to get the whole harvest done in time. By itself that wouldn't be too hard. The problem is, not all the apples ripen at the same time. We kept having to redo the same trees. So this was a marathon, not a sprint. We had five days now to harvest the entire zap apple orchard. From there, we’d have plenty of time to make them into zap apple jam. But like it or not, the next five days were going to be tough.

It was me, Applejack and Big Mac out in the fields bucking away at the trees, while Granny Smith and Apple Bloom collected the filled baskets and took them back to the farmhouse. Come tomorrow, we’d be down a filly, with the school week beginning again. And that was forgetting everything else. Just because it was zap apple season didn’t mean any of our regular duties stopped. Someone still needed to feed the pigs, collect eggs from the chickens, maintain the fences, fix the water pump that was acting up, mend the hinge on the barn door, and keep an eye on all the other trees as their fruit matured. All in all, we were in for a tough week.

The three of us stuck pretty close to each other, working our way through one row at a time in sections. I was just glad that the baskets were already set up. Come Applebuck Season, we’d have to drag these around as well, loading carts and hauling them back and forth to the storage barns scattered around the farm. I did my best to keep a measured pace, but before too long my legs started to ache. As in shape as we all were, applebucking is still back breaking work when you get right down to it. More so with the hot July sun rising in the east.

“Say, Bones,” Applejack called out from across the way. “How about ya strike up one of your songs for us?”

As I’ve said before, I’m not a bad singer, and I know plenty of songs that can make work on the farm just a little bit more tolerable. After thinking it over for a moment, I started up, the magic around me providing the suitable musical accompaniment, striking up into the tune of ‘Auld Bessie’.

Let Bacchus' sons be not dismayed
But join with me, each jovial blade
Come, drink and sing and lend your aid
To help me with the chorus

Instead of spa, we'll drink brown ale
And pay the reckoning on the nail;
No man for debt shall go to jail
From Garryowen in glory.

We'll beat the bailiffs out of fun,
We'll make the mayor and sheriffs run
We are the boys no man dares dun
If he regards a whole skin.

Our hearts so stout have got no fame
For soon 'tis known from whence we came
Where'er we go they fear the name
Of Garryowen in glory.

The song did a fair bit to lift our spirits. The last time I’d heard it had been a little over a year ago, just after the cessation of hostilities between Equestria and the changelings. Thanks to Starlight and the others, Chrysalis was overthrown, all that remained were the infiltrators in Canterlot who had taken the guises of the princesses, the Elements, Spike, and Shining. The pair in Canterlot had been apprehended, in part thanks to my dad, who first realised something was amiss with Celestia. When what had happened came to light, the trio in the Crystal Empire surrendered. But the seven in Ponyville, including the...thing...that impersonated AJ, which to my unending disgrace I didn’t spot, holed themselves up in the castle.

A siege ensued, with the seven bugs refusing to haul down their colours or recognise the new government or the cease fire. In the end, the Royal Guard staged their own version of the Iranian Embassy Siege and dragged them out kicking and screaming. The resulting celebration as the guards marched the captives away had used the old tune. To my mind, it seemed appropriate, with the guards driving the bugs along like captured Indians before the federal cavalry.

Sorry, that comes across as just a bit harsh, doesn’t it? Even with the peace, I still have to watch myself sometimes, lest I slip back into bad habits. Once upon a time, I just blindly hated all changelings. But slowly but surely, I’ve managed to change that, with help from a few good friends, and one traumatic incident involving time travel and unexpected wish fulfilment. They’re right you know, what they say about being careful what you wish for. In any case, I’m reformed now. It’s just that it’s an ongoing process. So I guess you could say I’m more of a work in progress.

Anyway, back to farming. We spent the whole morning catching up with our schedule, and by the time lunch rolled around, and it was almost unbearably hot, we were more than glad for the respite.

---

The first batch of harvested zap apples meant that Granny Smith could now swing into action making the zap apple jam. The fresher the apples, the better the jam was, and the more Filthy, that old miser, would pay for it. By the time we came in with the first load in carts, Granny was all set to go. The stove was crammed with pots. She had a couple potato mashers, jars of honey and jam sugar, and plenty of jam jars, all freshly sterilised from being in the oven for the last hour.

She started by washing and then cutting up the zap apples, removing their cores and dicing them into cubes. The chopping board soon became a multicoloured palette of rainbow coloured apples. From there, placing them into one of the large pans, she mashed them up into a near puree. She then added both the jam sugar and the honey, which would help thicken the mixture The resulting thick mixture looked a lot like liquid rainbows, which are indeed a thing in Equestrian weather manufacturing, being not too dissimilar to axle grease, and according to Rainbow Dash at any rate, it also makes for a great hangover cure.

As she stirred away at the bubbling mixture, which now made everything smell like zap apple jam, she would occasionally test the mixture’s consistency, making sure that it was thickening properly. After all, nopony wants watery zap apple jam, or jam that’s just thick ooze. It takes a real knack to get it right, and Granny Smith is the only pony around here who has the magic touch.

Seriously, it’s the one thing I don’t know about the process, which she keeps a closely guarded secret. I’ve tried it, as have others, and our jam invariably comes out wrong. But, it’s the only way we can ensure nopony else can steal the recipe. Whatever it is Granny Smith does, it works, and nopony else can replicate it.

Once the jam had thickened properly and it had been brought to a rolling boil, Granny eased the heat down and carefully used a ladle to get the jam into the prepared jars. You had to be careful, putting the hot jam in could, if you weren’t careful, cause the glass jars to crack, so it was vital that they’d only just come out of sitting in the oven. From there, both jar and jam were left to slowly cool down and were sealed airtight. And as the mixture cooled, the jam took on its recognisable striped rainbow colour, instead of being just a wash of various colours.

And there you had it, the first batch of this year’s zap apple jam. Every year was always a little different from the last, as is the case with any natural produce. Like a good wine, certain years of zap apple jam were prized for their taste and colour. The vast majority of these though would more than likely be gone before winter rolled around again.

After we’d had a quick lunch, it was back out there again, albeit, now that we were back on schedule, at a slightly less fractious pace.

There’s not really too much to say beyond that. As interesting as it was, I seriously doubt you are interested in a buck by buck of the next five days of harvesting and jam making. So, let us skip ahead to the end of the harvest.

---

After five days, we’d done all we could. Sadly, we hadn’t managed to harvest absolutely every single tree, but we got a good chunk of the orchard cleared out before the magic of the zap apple trees went dormant again, sending the unharvested apples, leaves and blossoms all back from whence they came.

We had a sizable harvest at any rate. It was more than enough to fulfil our annual contract with Barnyard Bargain, which called for five hundred jars. In total, we had that, plus twenty over for ourselves. I was now taking these over to the store by wagon. Ordinarily, this would have been a job for Big Mac, but he was currently off on other business. It seemed that, like me, he was interested in a career in teaching.

With Twilight’s impending coronation, and all the duties and responsibilities that came with it, she would no longer be able to look after the school full time. Like Princess Celestia, she planned to teach when she could, and possibly take on another personal student, but somepony else would have to take over the day to day operations and management. To that end, she had promoted the current vice-headmare, Starlight, to the position. That left a gap in the roster that needed filling. Starlight had quickly set to work on this and put out a want ad. Job hunting in Equestria is wonderfully easier than it is on earth. For starters, your best skill is plastered to your hindquarters, and even if it can’t be a vocation, it helps guide you to what you love. More to the point, the job market is a whole lot better. While jobs do require certain qualifications, they’re far less restrictive. You certainly don’t see the infamous, must have at least five years experience with a computer program that only came out last year, or the chicken and egg problem of experience. Most places are willing to hire provisionally and train you. Even if I hadn’t started working for Applejack, I think I would have found my feet alright here.

Anyway, Big Mac had gone after the job. He is quite the smart stallion when all is said and done. In all honesty, sometimes I think farming is a waste of his intellect. He’s not a genius or anything, but I certainly think he could lecture on some subjects at a university level. So he’d put in and been taken on provisionally, along with a couple other candidates to let Starlight see how they did at the role. It was good too that she was hiring outside and not just promoting one of the professors. My mum had always said brilliant teachers all too often make for terrible heads, since the skills required are so different. So with him away, that left me to haul the goods over to Filthy.

Barnyard Bargains is Equestria’s answer to Tesco, or Walmart, but with the important addition of morals and respect for the Geneva Convention. Filthy isn’t too bad really when it boils right down to. It’s just you judge him by Ponyville’s much higher moral standard. And to be fair, he’s looked after the family store well, expanding it to have a modest chain. Now if only he’d ditch that horrible cow he calls a wife.

Hauling the wagon around to the loading dock at the rear of the store, I found Filthy and a couple of stock clerk ponies waiting for me.

“Howdy, Mr. Rich,” I said, touching the brim of my hat. He understandably hates being called Filthy.

“Good morning, Mr. Star,” he said, sounding every inch a southern gentleman that he tries to be. “I take it this is the yield for this year’s zap apple harvest.”

“Sure is,” I replied, unhitching myself and chocking the wagon. “Five hundred jars, as promised.”

“Excellent!” he said, clapping his hooves together in a well practised act of good cheer. “You don’t mind if I try one of these myself do you?”

He does that, Big Mac had warned me. Every year, he picks a jar at random and checks the quality. In a way, it’s more than a little insulting. Apples don’t go back on a deal and after all these years he should know that. Then again, he’s never really stopped trying to find a way to make it himself either. So I suppose there’s mutual distrust as well as détente.

“Well go right ahead,” I said congenially. “Which one do you want?”

Filthy picked one of the jars out, which I levitated over to him. Opening it up, he stuck a spoon in and had a taste of the rainbow coloured jam. It quickly met with his approval.

Of course, if I was bent and selling him jars of liquid rainbow at twenty bits a jar, I’d fill the whole first rack with genuine jars. If he wants to be a discerning businessman, Filthy should learn to ask for a taste from the other side of the brick.

But he was satisfied and his staff quickly set to unloading the wagon. A couple were, naturally, refused due to damage here and there, but that was why we had a few more than needed. These things happen after all. And it left me with my own couple of jars which I could give to my parents and Lizzie. Perks of the job, you see. If nothing else, Dad did love to joke how these jars did ‘fall off the back of a wagon’.

Speaking of my old man, he had some interesting news from Canterlot. He’d brought back home a collection of postcards from when Celestia and Luna went on their little vacation. They gave Twilight a little trial having her hoof on the tiller, and got a taste of what retirement might be like. There was a bit of squabbling at one point, but they had a good time. And luckily they came back promptly when Twilight knackered the little trinket they gave her to move the sun and moon.

In addition to that though, I heard from Mum about the recent Trivia Trot fiasco. Applejack had told me all about it of course, but it was still a funny story to hear. More to the point, Sunburst was in town because of that little affair. Perhaps later I could pop by and see him.

As it turned out, I’d be seeing him a lot. While Big Mac had ultimately realised that being vice-headstallion was not for him, the school did have a couple new members of staff. Sunburst, and I’m not going to cry nepotism or affirmative action here, was picked to take the post. It made sense to be fair, and it gave the stallion a chance to reach his full potential, particularly now that Flurry was getting older.

What terrifies me though was who Starlight picked to replace her role as student counsellor. You think having an ex-cult leader as the pony in charge of students’ mental health is bad?

Try the Great and Powerful Trixie.

As a wise Scotsman once said; ‘we’re doomed!’

Author's Note:

Proofread by Sweetolebob18.

Quite a busy chapter here. My proofreader pointed out that, in the episode, Zap Apple trees produce fruit every 100 moons, suggesting they only give fruit every 7.5 years. But then again, a similar measurement is given for the family reunion, and the show never properly specified what a moon is as a unit of measurement, particularly given how Luna could quite easily wax and wane it as she pleased. Any ideas on what a 'moon' is?

This chapter also gives a cameo to one of the characters in a new story I'm working on. Elusive is of course, just R63 Rarity, but I have a few ideas with him. As to the rumours Bones mentioned, to give a hint to that future story, I will say he is just plain, simple, Elusive. And if you think that's not the case, well then...*smiles* there may be hope for you yet.

Finally, I was, am, and probably always will be deathly afraid of bees. Like Richard Hammond, I don't like insects.

Comments

[Alden MacManx]

multicoloured palate of rainbow coloured apples.

That should be 'palette', friend. 'Palate' is in your mouth.

Great chapter. Greater storytelling.

[Blade Star]

10568847 Thanks, on both counts. It may not be popular, but I enjoyed writing it.

[Vaalintine]

Is the costumes and serenading from canon? Because it just feels bizzare how ritualistic it is. And Elusive showing up certainly raised an eyebrow for me, is he going to have any reason or significance behind appearing or is it just a quick cameo?

[Blade Star]

10573864 Well, in the episode 'Family Appreciation Day', Apple Bloom ended up in a bunny costume, jumping over watering cans singing the alphabet song as part of the zap apple jam making process, although the reason behind it, and many of the other odd things about making zap apple jam are left unexplained. As for Elusive, he's just as a cameo here, but will be featuring in a story I'm working on as a secondary protagonist.

[PinkDragonJr]

I'm getting DS9 vibes about Elusive's backstory