Grainne Smith is a young mare yearning for love and adventure. Quick Pick of the Apple clan is fresh off a desert adventure with his brothers, saddlebags heavy with gold and hooves sore from travel. A story of early Ponyville
Grainne Smith is a young mare yearning for love and a little change. Quick Pick of the Apple clan is fresh off a desert adventure with his brothers, saddlebags heavy with gold and hooves sore from travel. In this story of early Ponyville, two of the apple-growing clans of Equestria collide, ultimately joining together and building a homestead for the generations of their family to come.
Now under revision/completion!
Granny (Grainne) Smith- Its an old Irish name for the patron of the Harvest.
Grainne Smith blew another loose strand of blonde mane out of her eye as she trudged up the hill. Some had tried to name it, this hill on the edge of the Smith family orchard, yet even now it simply remained ‘the hill’ to the townsponies and her family. This was the hill they had climbed together years ago, the same hill that they looked down upon the plot of land appointed to them for the first time from. Native prairie grass still grew upon the hill sides, walling the hoof-worn path that Grainne so often took. Welcoming shade soon graced her down-turned eyes, and she smiled up at the oak providing it. The young tree was the first thing her father, planted on their new land, what was once referred to as their ‘travelling oak.’ That oak had been grown from a seed in their wagon by her parents, an oak to be planted alongside the Smith family, and had matured quickly from the fertile soil of Ponyville County and the loving magic of a family of Earth ponies.
A snort accompanied a rather forcefully kicked rock from Grainne’s spot under the tree.
“Durn letters.”
The young mare mumbled over the slightly dampened letters pulled from her shawl. The trot to town wasn’t far, yet just long enough for her to work up a sweat. These were letters she preferred to read in the open privacy of her spot under the tree, from where she could look up and over the rolling plains towards Ponyville and trace the bright new track work of the railroad towards Cantorlot Mountain. Once she came here to simply rest in between the many chores of her day, but now Grainne found herself coming up here to think.
“Thinkin’ is all well’an good,” Pa had said once, “Until you thank yerself silly.”
Grainne Smith remembered that line of wisdom as she gingerly tore the seal and unfolded the first of her letters with her teeth. She sure had thought herself silly the past few months, she thought as the letter was spread under her work-scuffed hooves.
Gran-
Grainne huffed down at the letter; she hated that nickname and tolerated it only from her brothers and her favorite cousin- it made her feel way too old. Rose was a tough one to sour on, though- that was for sure.
You wouldn’t imagine what Alfriston did for me today…
And another letter detailing Rose’s love life. Sometimes Grainne wondered if these letters were meant for her or for Rose’s diary. Still, the romantic inclinations of her cousin were beginning to rub off on her as she read letter after letter atop the hill. This Alfriston of the Apple clan sure had won Rose’s heart in their months-long courtship, and the ‘Rose-colored’ depictions of him and his tales of the other Apple brothers were definitely intriguing for young Grainne. The growing emptiness of the house had amplified such thoughts after her brothers had left- Iron Shoe was a grown stallion married to a wonderful mare, and already owned his own farrier shop in Fillydephlia. Octavo had already made his way to Cantorlot, where he was playing some jig he had found, and wrote home often of a beautiful grey-coated filly he had met there. Now a young mare herself, Grainne found herself thinking about love, mired in perhaps the most dangerous thinking there is to be done.
Upon finishing her share of the mail, Grainne readjusted her hoof-sewn shawl and set off back down the hill toward the farmhouse. The Smiths still lived in their original home that was built following their arrival to their new land, but much like the town of Ponyville it had a more broken-in and homey feel about it, the rough-sawn edges worn smoother with time and familiarity. The heavy front door still creaked when Grainne pushed her way in, and a deep breath brought in the smells of the Smith home. The assault of her mother’s ever-present cooking was lessened by the scent of fresh and old carpentry, courtesy of her father’s various projects.
“Grainne honey, did you fetch the mail?” called her mother, Sow n’ Sew.
“Yes ma, I got them right here.” Said letters were emptied out of Grainne’s shawl and laid onto the sturdy kitchen table, while her own were tucked back into its folds.
Sow Smith looked back from the washbasin with a raised eyebrow. “You remember ta pick up my sewing from that new boutique?”
“Aw ma, I plum forgot. Rose sent me another letter!”
“I swear, that filly must be sending entire copies of her diary ta ya’. You best not let all that talk of her romancin’ get to your head an’ go forgetting life round here.” Sow turned back to washbasin and primed it with the bucket of well-water that Grainne kept filled. “Lucky your chores were done, you should have the time to get to town and back before supper. Go ahead and take that package settin’ in my rocker, I finished Mrs. Periwinkle’s order early.” A nod of the elder Smith’s head sent Grainne back out of the kitchen with a token huff.
“An don’t be late fer supper, Grainne!”
The rhythmic thudding of my sore hooves had long been my only companion on the dusty trail back northeast, which had been slowly widening as the roll of the plains grew more pronounced. Both shoed and roughly unshod hoof prints were visible in the dust of the road, their origins blatantly obvious in such a tame setting. Such riddles of the road kept me occupied as the miles passed under my brisk walk. Stopping on the crest of the largest slope I had climbed yet, the first Equestrian settlement I had seen in months came into view. Ponyville’s limited sprawl was set out before me, a fairly new settlement that my brothers had spoken of. Convenient to my journey was the new set of tracks leading to the Cantorlot terminal, cutting my travel time to the Fillydephlia homestead in half. The small Smith Orchard was just visible, south of the town near the looming Everfree. It was well known to those in the apple business that the Smith’s special Zap Apple Jam had quite literally put the town on the map. Perhaps a visit to the acclaimed orchard was in order- I certainly had the bits to lay over for awhile.
A solid stone bridge met me into the hamlet of Ponyville. The obvious workponyship of the stone bridge was impressive for such a young town, yet the clear stream that cheerfully burbled beneath it was equally impressive to me. One learned to appreciate the simple sights such as these, which were gratefully easy on the eyes after the shifting red sands of the Palomino. From this welcoming scene into the town, I started off on a path to the train station I had picked out from my former vantage point on the hill. Ponies of all types and walks of life regarded my passing with a mix of veiled interest and suspicion. I looked back at them- even though it was obvious that this was an Earth pony farming town, a surprising amount of unicorns and pegasi made up the community. I blamed them not for their impression of me, for I indeed warranted it with my trek-weary body and worn outfit.
With a good few swipes of my hat I brought the worst of the dust off of my sides and saddlebags before entering the town’s largest general store. ‘Barnyard Bargains’ was an odd name for such a place- it seemed more akin to a moniker of one of those big-time department stores found in the cities back east. The swinging door was caught with a deft kick from my rear hoof, catching the stretched spring from slamming it shut. A tall stallion with a dark grey coat and a styled mane looked up from behind the register counter with an appraising look that rather quickly faded to one of distaste. Flashing a wry grin to him and to the only other occupants of the store I had noted upon entering- a pair of older stallions set up to a checkerboard by the front window- I began to hunt through the surprising large selection of gear. Picking out a solid length of rope to replace my lasso and a fresh set of heavy canvas saddlebags, I meandered on up to the impeccably clean counter. The clerk pony had been watching me carefully the entire time, not afraid to stare down any who entered his domain. I tossed my lot onto his counter and reached back for a bit bag, exposing the handle of my knife with the twist of my barrel.
“We may not have us a sheriff, but that sure doesn't mean we welcome trouble round here,” the tall clerk finally spoke up, calling the attention of the checker-playing ponies to us. He looked pointedly at the knife holstered under my barrel by my left shoulder, then to the obviously heavy, clinking saddlebags strapped over my back. “Or those who bring it.”
I brought my head back around and dropped a small bit bag upon the counter, resting a heavy hoof up beside it. The clerk glanced down at the bag and met me eye-to-eye once more. “Trouble is just a less romantic name for adventure, and despite not looking for either, both come easy for an Apple. I don’t aim to start any round here, but I will finish it if trouble arises.” I gave short chuckle as the eyes of the other stallions in the store grew slightly. “Quick Pick Apple, at yer service.”
The tall clerk gave a snort followed by a wry grin after a few beats. “Stinking Rich,” he introduced as he hoof bumped me over the counter, “I’ve done business with your folks back east while I was still traveling. Good family you got. Came out here before there was a town and finally set up shop. I must say- you look like you’ve been to Tartarus and back, colt.”
“You’re not too far off there, Rich.” I admitted ruefully as I rolled my left shoulder, comforted by the weight of my trusty pick near it. “I’m just looking to re-outfit and layover some afore I head back home.”
Stinking Rich’s countenance had gone from hardliner clerk to a more amicable, easy-going expression. “Well you picked a right-fine place to do so, Quick. That’ll be two fer the rope and four fer the bags.”
I pulled the requested bits out of my bag on the counter and pushed them over in a neat stack. “I reckon so. Nice little town yall have here.” The rope went over a hook on my old bags and the new pair was draped over the lot. This wasn't the place to be showing off the contents of my bags by switching sets now. “Mr. Rich.” A nod of my head and I turned for the door.
“Apple.” Stinking Rich called after. “You need anything, you let me know. Your family helped me out when I was just a colt myself.”
Looking back into the sincerity of his eyes, I saw the potential for a friend. “Thank you.” What my family did for this stallion I did not know, but the Apple clan never spared a helping hoof when one was needed. Emerging from the cool of the store, I took in the tidy little town surrounding me. Barnyard Bargains was situated near the train station on the end of the main drag, presumably to draw the ponies disembarking from the train. On the far end, past the town center, lay an odd building that I had spied from the hills outside of Ponyville. In the distance it appeared to be built in a perfect circle, the periwinkle blue paint making the rather impractical building stand out. With a few hours till sunset and having nothing better to do, I began to make my way back through town to the strange building.
Coming up on ‘Periwinkle’s Boutique,’ as the hanging sign proudly proclaimed, more details became apparent. The soft blue paint still had a sense of freshness to it and the roof was done in shingles rather than the regional preference for thatch. Such obvious expenditures made the entire one-story affair seem a tad upscale for the young town it was situated in. Not being one for such frivolity, I gave a snort and began to turn away, my curiosity abated. Swinging my head back around at the sudden opening of the Boutique’s door, I found my walk arrested. Making her way out of the doorway stood one of the most beautiful fillies I had ever seen. Braided lengths of straw blonde mane stood out against the sheen of her cheerful green coat and her trim body moved with a muscular grace built from years of hard work. For one of the first times in my life words failed to come to my mouth as the young mare settled a pair of sharp orange eyes on me that seemed full of laughter. They widened a bit as my body subconsciously turned to face her. Time slowed as I quickly snapped my jaw shut and found my voice.
Shouldering through the heavy door of Mrs. Periwinkle’s boutique proved to be a poor choice for Grainne. The bulky package of alterations that she had exchanged her last load for did no wonders for her balance despite spending years carrying such loads on the farm. For the moment this didn't seem to be an issue, for time had slowed when her eyes caught the stallion standing in the street looking back at her. Not in all her years had she seen such a pony grace the streets of Ponyville- a stallion with a frame not much larger than average, yet corded with muscle in a way that Grainne had never seen. The cords roiled under his dusty red coat, a color bleached by the elements to a slightly more serious shade than the pastel of a common pony’s. His mane, tail, and fetlocks had obviously gone uncut for a goodly amount of time, giving off a well-traveled appearance alongside his worn outfit. Grainne couldn't help but gasp as the stallion lifted his head a bit, revealing a surprisingly young face framed by a handsome square jaw and set with deep emerald eyes that she could easily loose herself in, if not she had not been brought out of the beautiful time lapse by the utterance of a baritone “Howdy!”
Finishing her gasp with an unfocused stumble off the boutique’s short landing, the package sitting on her back was bucked halfway to the literally breathtaking mystery stallion. Despite a quick recovery, Grainne gratefully took the proffered hoof to steady herself. “Whoa nelly!” she gave a suddenly nervous chuckle, “My, you can be pretty quick on your hooves, there.”
“Quick Pick Apple, miss. Some say it comes with the name, and I let them.” A barely perceptible heat came to his cheeks to match Grainne’s freshly flushed look as they became aware of the way their coats blended together in the impromptu hoof-hold. Grainne’s eyes widened as she heard his last name, watching as her hoof was lowered in a smooth motion that was followed by a tip of Quick’s well-worn hat. “You alright, miss?”
Grainne felt the heat spread from her cheeks to further down her neck. Since when was Grainne Smith one to be easily flustered? “Righter’n than rain, right now, Mr. Apple. My name is Grainne, Grainne Smith, by the way.” Her last words slowly died in her throat as she began to notice even more details about her new acquaintance. That knife strapped by his chest was rather large, and even she could deduce that the clinking emanating from his clearly heavy saddlebags was rather valuable in nature. What was the business of this young stallion here in Ponyville?
She looked back into the face of the chivalrous colt. There was a definite sense of honesty in those striking green eyes- bolstered by an underlying glint of determination. Such a face invited trust in a way that Grainne found rather endearing, despite the weathered hardness that accompanied it. The way he moved his jaw as he practiced rolling her name out of his mouth was a rather cute reaction Grainne had had the pleasure of causing many a time. She barely noticed the small passing herd of fillies who were barely able to stifle their giggles while pointing out the young couple.
Once again the two young ponies broke eye-contact, their cheeks re-igniting from the realization that they had been staring at each other in the middle of Mane Street for a second time. “Please call me Quick, I’m not quite as grey-maned as Pa yet.” Grainne smiled even broader at the wonderful rumbling chuckle that followed Quick’s request. He swept the nearly forgotten package up from their hooves and settled it over his broad back. “Right pleased ta’ metcha, Grainne. You need any help getting this here package somewhere?”
Grainne barely caught a denial from forming on her lips. She may have not actually needed the help, but suddenly the prospect of not having to carry another package out to the orchard was made even more desirable by the fact that this handsome young stallion would be accompanying her. “I’d appreciate that, Quick. You mind trotting on out to our orchard?” Grainne couldn’t help but glance back at Quick Pick’s cutie mark around those heavy saddlebags he wore. As she had heard was custom in the Apple family, it was apple-based, only Quick’s depicted a long straight knife neatly slicing a red apple. It was not entirely unlike the ‘pick’ of a knife she had noticed in the barely-concealed barrel harness, she noted, as she glanced back at Quick for a response, subconsciously flipping both mane-braids to one side of her shapely neck.
“I sure wouldn’t, Grainne!” came the easygoing reply amid another blush-inducing grin.
I scrambled to keep alongside the beautiful young mare that I had the good fortune of meeting. Momma Apple was always adamant about how us colts treated the fillies, and walking alongside a mare in your company was only the proper thing to do, no matter how shapely the curves of her flanks surrounded their amazing pie… uh, pie-shaped cutie marks. I suddenly felt several years younger in the presence of this eye-catching mare, and blamed it on the months spent out in the desert surrounded by colts. Shifting the weight of the bulky package and my saddlebags around on my back for a more comfortable position, I looked over to Grainne. “Say, you don’t happen to live out on the Smith orchard, Grainne?”
The proud, radiant smile I received was perhaps even more beautiful than Celestia’s sunsets over the Great Palomino. “I sure do, Grainne Smith is my full name. We helped put this here town on the map with our Zap Apple jam!”
“I’ve heard so, I was actually meaning to stop by your orchard while I was in Ponyville! Yall’s Zap-Apple jam is the only apple-related thing I have ever seen us Fillydelphia Apples buy before. Right special stuff you have there.” Grainne looked over with another one of those adorable blushes that perfectly accented her intensely green coat. “Well thank you, that’s a mighty fine compliment from the Apple Clan, Quick.”
Now even more content with my load and destination, I matched Grainne’s pace and settled into a smooth tölt to keep the package smooth upon my back. Grainne noticed my change of gait and promptly copied it with a surprised smirk, but sped up a tad. Welcoming the change of pace and the way the graceful tölt stretched my travel-weary muscles, I obliged the mare’s challenge and pulled abreast once more. We stayed at the deceptively comfortable pace through the rest of town and onto her farm’s road, garnering no small amount of appreciative attention by the other ponies making their way home for supper. It had been months since my heart had felt so light, affording my aching hooves the bounce needed to keep apace with this wonderful mare. Looking out over the golden waves of the blowing prairie grass I saw a mix of the ocean and the desert I had left not too long ago, the combination blending into an increasingly familiar and comforting sight alongside Grainne.
We slowed to a recovery walk as the fairly small orchards passed by, revealing the Smith family home. It was a one-story affair well-built by earth pony hooves, yet was obviously an original settler pony house on the small side compared to any of our Apple family homes. Wonderful smells wafted through the open kitchen window upon the evening summer breeze, reminding me just how long I had gone without a decent home-cooked meal. My longing recollection of my own mother’s cooking was cut short by the inquisitive voice of the mare beside me. “You don’t see many ponies not from the isles able to hold the ole tölt like that, Quick. Fine form you had there.”
This was far from the first time I had been complimented on the versatility of my gait, but coming from Grainne brought that unfamiliar heat back to my face. “It comes naturally enough to me, I suppose; I’ve been able to since not long after getting my cutie mark here. Probably didn’t hurt any that Uncle Cloptarf showed me how while helping out with the still.”
Grainne’s rich laugh made me feel like I could tölt across the entire county, and I couldn't help but to join the melody with my own bass chortle. I went to open the door for Grainne, garnering a lingering smile from her, but my usually sure hoof swished through the air on account of the door opening for both of us, reveling a middle-aged mare with just the beginning streaks of grey in her tied-back mane. Her solid shade of blue eye shadow caught my eye when she blinked, and I definitely began to see the family resemblance in Grainne and her mother as far as their face and builds.
“Why Grainne, I do believe that I said to run a package into town and maybe pick one up, not pick up a package and a colt to carry it for you, missy.” I couldn't help but to chuckle at the familiar eye-brow cocked posture of a mother. Only then does she look over at me, giving me a solid once-over with a discerning glance. “My, you did pick a handsome one, though, Grainne. He looks plum tuckered, though! In with ye two, suppers been on for awhile now.” Another raised eyebrow for Grainne, resulting in a sheepish smile from the younger mare.
“Now ma, this is Quick Pick of the Apple family back east,” Grainne politely introduces you as you both enter the house, “and this is my Ma, Sow n’ Sew Smith.” I stopped once I was inside the doorway and removed my hat, giving a slight bow to the matron of the Smith household. “A pleasure to meetcha,’ Mrs. Smith.” I turned to hang my hat on the surprisingly well-made coat hanger next to the door, and slid my saddlebags to the ground next to it. After a moment of thought, my knife harness came off too and was carefully tucked in between the two sets of saddlebags I now owned. It felt odd to have it off after so long, but I knew that my own Momma wouldn't approve of wearing it in another family’s home. I turned back to Mrs. Smith, who had watched me unload my outfit with thinly veiled interest, which was definitely peaked when the saddlebags chinked to the ground, followed by my trusty pick. “You must be starving colt, I’m lucky I still cook like I have my own colts home, or we wouldn't have enough grub for a gen-uine travelling Apple.”
I appreciated the good mare’s lack of questions regarding my load. It was not that I was uncomfortable sharing the tale of what the desert had blessed my brothers and I with, but I felt that it was a story not suited for such a cheery home nor would it be smart to flaunt the hard-earned gold. The underlying understanding of Mrs. Smith spoke of a true travelling pioneer pony, a trait that made me feel even more at home. Nonetheless, a knowing motherly smirk rose to her face. “Sounds like you've been right busy, colt. Come on in and take a load off those hooves.”
I gratefully accepted the mare’s invitation with a wry grin and proceeded to follow Grainne to the kitchen through the narrow halls of the Smith home. The motherly mare snorted at the slightly exaggerated hip roll of her daughter from behind me, and I tried my Apple-honest best to watch the bouncing braids of Grainne’s mane and not those of her slightly swishing tail on the thankfully short walk to the kitchen. Upon walking through the doorway, I immediately spotted a large, thickly built stallion sitting at the head of the table. His straw hat was hanging on a hook by the kitchen door behind him, and his rich black mane had a surprising lack of gray in it from what the rest of his weathered continence would suggest. I met him steady in the eyes as he glanced up from the local paper, the dark brown of his showing a brief flash of surprise before settling back into a steady gaze. It was a look that I was well-familiar with from my own father, but the realization that I had just walked in the door with this stallion’s filly gave it a whole new meaning. Stepping forward as the patriarch of the Smith family pushed back from his table and stood over me by nearly a full hoof-height, I could feel that steady gaze look me up and down. Out of my peripheral I saw that the females of the household had left it to us as they scurried about, finishing setting the table. Refocusing on the large stallion in front of me, I watched as he scuffed a fore hoof off on his work shirt and held it out to me. I met in a powerful hoof-shake, one that I was just able to match and one that defiantly had me remembering the shake of my Pa. “Tumbleseed Smith,” came the low rumble of a greeting from Grainne’s father. “Ah reckon you’re an Apple, son,” he followed up with right as I was opening my mouth to return it. Slightly bewildered by the uncanny recognition of the stallion, I took a beat to answer.
“You reckon right, Mr. Smith, I indeed am Quick Pick, proudly an Apple. Have you met my folks before, sir?”
The steady eyes of Mr. Smith lit up with a spark of a smile. “Yes colt, I've done business with many an Apple back during our travelling days. Near every tree in our orchards are from Apple family stock, I've not found better apple seeds in all of Equestria.” He turned to sit back down at the sturdy kitchen table after sweeping his paper to underneath his chair. Waiting until the mares had found their seats; we both sat down together and looked over a meal that was truly wondrous to my eyes and snout. A variety of apple-baked goods was spread over the table and I truly wondered if Mrs. Smith had spontaneously cooked more food upon my arrival to her table. Studying my expression, the good mare spoke up, “I told ye so, Quick. I can tell a well-traveled pony when I see one, so don’t be afraid to dig in. Go at er’ colt!” Needing no other prompting, dishes were passed and I started in on the best meal I had received in months.
Over that wonderful dinner I discussed how things were around the land of Equestria, gathering that the Smiths had once traveled the realm as settler ponies themselves. Grainne’s parents asked about the latest first-hoof accounts of the happenings in the east despite my several-month old recollections until the talk turned to the local apple farming. The whole Smith family had something to weigh in on converting the prairie fields to the rich farmland of their orchard, with Grainne knowing a surprising amount about the cultivation of their special Zap Apples. I was more than a little amazed to find out that she was the one to discover the rare fruit in the Everfree as little more than a young filly, and had helped to refine the Zap Apple jam production process ever since. Watching as she got up from the table just as we all were starting to recline in our chairs, I felt truly ready to burst until Grainne proudly returned with a fresh pie off the cooling rack. “I made this earlier today,” the pretty young mare exclaimed around the handle of a pie cutter, “and I sure am glad we have company to share it with instead of watching Pa wolf er’ down.” Mr. Smith snorted at the accusation while his wife gave a twinkling laugh. I just barely caught the wink directed at me by Grainne after the statement, and tried to focus on the coming pie to alleviate the durn heat building in my cheeks at the Smith family table. Soon I was staring down at a fresh slice of apple pie, presented in such a way to make even my Ma envious. As soon as the whole family was provided with pie, I dug in with a gusto that surprised even myself. Only a couple of bites in, I slowed to properly swallow and stared into the bemused eyes of Grainne across the table, who had been appreciatively watching my pie-destroying abilities. “Grainne, this is the best apple pie this Apple has ever had in his life,” I said with the utmost Apple-sincerity possible with a snout covered in crumbs. The entire Smith family broke out into laughter, which I happily joined in on. “You better believe it colt, that’s the best apple pie you’ll find this side of Cantorlot Mountain!” Mr. Smith declared. I could only stare into the laughter-filled eyes of Grainne Smith and return the prior wink. “I sure do believe that’s best I could hope to find in all of Equestria, Mr. Smith.”
Once all of the dishes were washed and put away I watched the sun set over the Smith orchard, sinking below a lone oak tree standing upon a hill. This was admittedly beautiful country, and the warm smells and talk surrounding me made me feel almost at home. My chest gave a sudden twinge, heart and mind heavy with memories of the family I had left behind in Filly, as well as those that now lay bleaching in the Palomino sands. I was thankful to experience the surroundings of a family home once again, but I knew that I had to contact my own folks soon. Letting loose a sigh that I didn’t realize I was holding, I turned back to the hospitable Smiths, and to Grainne.
Leaning against the doorway into her kitchen, it was easy for Sow n’ Sew Smith to observe her family, as she had done for so many years. This particular night, though, she watched the visiting colt look out her kitchen window. The poor lad had obviously been through a lot recently and carried an aurora of experience about him that would befit a much older stallion. This Quick Pick couldn’t be any older than the youngest of her sons, Octavo, yet he had probably seen more in his travels of Equestria than many others, herself included, had ever witnessed. Her heart went out to the colt, remembering the weary life her own family once led on the roads of Equestria and the unspoken ordeals experienced by ponies like them. It was obvious to the mare that her daughter’s heart had gone out to Quick as well, only in a much more youthful fashion. A soft smile graced Sow’s muzzle at that last realization; she had long awaited a worthy colt for her daughter’s heart. Such was an expectation she would gladly hold for Quick Pick Apple after seeing the honesty in his eyes. Sow kept her smile up when Quick turned back towards her family, and cast a motherly eye over his form once again. Just as it was obvious to her that the colt hadn’t had a decently cooked in far too long, the mare recognized from her own experience a longing for a homely roof to sleep under; and she would be darned if she wasn’t able to fulfill such a simple want. Walking over the smooth planks of her kitchen floor, Sow laid a motherly hoof on Quick’s muscular shoulder and looked deep into the colt’s rich green eyes. “We have an empty room that’s yours to have if’n you need a place to spend the night, Quick. There’s no need to go sleep out in the grass or whatever foolishness I see galloping through yer head!”
Quick showed his surprise with a slight flaring of his nostrils and an increasingly wry grin. Sow noted with amusement as his gaze flicked over to her husband and daughter before meeting her in the eyes again. “Apples aren’t ones to let such amazing hospitality overripe, Mrs. Smith, so I will gladly take you up on that if I’m allowed to lend a hoof around the orchard tomorrow.” Quick ended looking at Mr. Smith. “I know my way around an orchard enough to be a help.”
Mr. Smith let out another rumbling guffaw. “Colt, I’d be crazy to turn down a day of help from an Apple. Yer welcome in this house as long as you can stand the cooking of these here mares!” Mrs. Smith snorted at her husband amidst an affirmative nod while Grainne rolled her eyes and smiled widely at Quick.
Quick Pick Apple matched Grainne’s brilliant smile and chuckled at the familiar antics. “You’d have me here for a long while yet before that would happen, Mr. Smith!”
My hooves were already on the floor as the first red rays of Celestia’s dawn rolled in through the window. Years of instinct had driven me up from the best night of rest I had enjoyed in months, and I now fussed with the sheet corners of my borrowed bed, getting everything up to Momma Apple standards. My hat and knife were already on me, donned by the same instincts that had awoken me. I quietly made my way through the Smith home towards the muffled rattling in the kitchen, where the Smith parents were already having their morning coffee. Waving off the wonderful Mrs. Smith from rising I went to pour my own cup from the stove, taking it just as black as the rest. Sitting in the same spot as last night, I enjoyed looking around the small but homey kitchen until Mr. Smith rose to his hooves with a nod and started his way out the back door. Murmuring my thanks to Sow n’ Sew, I placed my heavy porcelain cup in the washbasin and followed him out.
Despite the Smith family orchard being smaller than the average Apple’s by a good bit, I found the neat rows of healthy trees no less impressive in the morning light. Here was an orchard that was loved and lived off of, as evidenced by its impeccable care and the spring that had developed in the step of Tumbleseed Smith. I was surprised to see the unpainted door of their small barn be opened from within by Grainne, who was backing her way into it while dragging a good-sized stack of baskets by the handle. Trying my best not to stare at the way her athletic flanks powered herself backwards through the door, I trotted ahead and opened it the rest of the way. Grainne finished dragging the baskets to the end of the door and left them there to prop it open. Receiving another beautiful grin and a good morning from the mare as her father hooked himself up to an old wagon I felt that increasingly familiar flutter in my chest. As I followed the mare into the barn to help load the rest of the harvest baskets into the wagon, I had to admit that this was indeed a mare worth falling for.
Walking out to the west section of the Smith orchard revealed the whole lot of Smith land to be perfectly maintained. “We sure are lucky you showed up, Quick, ‘cause the summer harvest is just starting fer us.” I nodded my agreement as I studied the plump Gravensteins and Paula Reds hanging from the surrounding trees. “With my colts gone this year I was planning on having to hire in some help from town, but hopefully it won’t come ta’ that.”
Watching curiously as the large pony unhooked himself from the cart and went for a ladder hanging on the side of his wagon, I started unloading the harvest baskets and carefully arranged them at the base of a nearby tree, just as my pa had shown me years ago. Now I had Mr. Smith watching me with an air of curiosity as I carefully stretched out my muscles and backed towards the tree. Despite his almost bored, stoic expression, he jumped and dropped the piece of straw out of his mouth when I let loose a lightning-fast buck to his apple tree. The straw drifted to his hooves as he stared open-jawed at the apples falling neatly into the arranged baskets. “What was that, colt?!” came his expected explanation.
I chuckled and started consolidate the apples into fewer baskets before loading them into the wagon. “That right there is Applebuckin,’ Mr. Smith. It’s a thing we Apples have done for generations, but I’ll show you how so we can get all these harvested ourselves while their still crisp,” I nodded back at the summer apples, “its all in the Earth Pony spirit, Tumbleseed.”
“Well I’ll be.” Mr. Smith marveled at my feat of harvest for a little while longer before moving to help me load the baskets. Honestly, it had taken a fair amount of my will power to blast all the apples out of that tree in a single kick, but I felt that I could power through the rest of the day regardless. I wasn't letting the chance to impress Grainne’s father pass me by, either. The older stallion spoke up again, “Will I have ta’ kick that fast? I don’t think my back could hold up to that pace fer long anymore.”
“You shouldn't have to, Mr. Smith. A quick buck just suits me better, Applebuckin’ being magic-related an all.” We both sat under the next tree in line as I began to explain the intricacies of applebucking. It was a thing all Apples grew up learning to do, no matter what, and is a fine way to build character. Applebucking is one the few ways us Earth Ponies can project our inherent magic, literally infusing our hooves with it and combining the willpower with a sudden buck to coax the apples out of an apple tree. Such earth pony magic relies on our ability to shape our will and project it into our hooves, a much more personal way than the fancy mental spells of the unicorns. My own gift being swift agility, it is easier to project my will in a ‘quick’ buck. Mr. Smith had indeed heard of and uses his earth pony magic in similar ways, but I could tell that his knowledge was centered on the actual growing of the trees from seeds, befitting his cutie mark, instead of harvesting them. Thus, the older stallion sat and listened enraptured to all of this as I showed him the best way to position the baskets under the tree. After a few mars on the bark of the tree and a couple of sore hooves, Tumbleseed Smith finally figured out how to focus his magic in a buck, rewarding us with a haphazard shower of apples. As we picked up the stray apples, he began explaining how he was able to use his magic to store and grow seeds in return for my applebucking lesson. While I had been taught a good bit about such growing magic, it was a boon to learn from a stallion as gifted in it as Tumbleseed. Soon we had fallen into a good working rhythm, filling the west end of the orchard with the satisfying sounds of trees being bucked and apples tumbling into baskets, the ladder long forgotten.
The noontime sun was shining bright and hot upon us when Grainne trotted up, a large lunch pail dangling merrily from her mouth by a rope handle. Over the light meal of flowery sandwiches and cold pie, I gladly repeated the lesson on applebucking for Grainne. The way her eyes followed my every movement combined with a cute perk of her ears made her interest obvious, and I found myself having to work hard to focus through my own explanation. After finishing up with the last of the cold pie, which I honestly tried to not completely devour, Grainne hung her pail and shawl on the wagon and joined us for the rest of the day’s applebucking. Mr. Smith and I shared a knowing grin as Grainne backed up to the tree, her orange eyes glinting with determination. Grainne stretched her lithe back out in a most attractive fraction, and my eyes fought with my better senses as I tried to pull them away from the mesmeric sight, knowing that Mr. Smith was only a few tail-lengths away. The spunky young mare looked up and into my eyes right before unleashing a punishing buck into the apple tree, astonishing all of us with an orderly rain of apples. I would've never thought that applebucking could turn me on like this, but here I stood with both my eyebrows and temperature raised. Grainne either had a truly impressive amount of willpower or a knack for applebucking, but from what I had seen in the short time I had spent with the spirited young mare it was likely a combination of both.
Aided by Grainne, the rest of the crisp Gravensteins were harvested with plenty of time to spare before supper. The fact that Grainne was able to keep pace with us the entire time was yet another reminder that there was more to the mare than met the eye, which was already quite fine to meet. Loading the wagon for the last time, Tumbleseed turned it away from the sinking sun and plodded alongside us back towards the barn. We only made it halfway back before he spoke up, looking over at us through the corner of his eye. “Now I can wheel this old wagon into the barn myself, and your mother can definitely manage supper herself fer a night. I just don’t want to see yall late to the table, y’hear?” I processed what he said for a beat and blinked my eyes in surprise.
“I’m mighty appreciative of it, sir. You couldn't find me late for your wife’s cooking for anything, either!” Grainne blushed slightly as I thanked the good old pony. Slowing up to let Mr. Smith and the wagon roll on ahead, I smiled down at the slightly shorter mare. “Would you mind showing me the rest of your orchards, Grainne?”
“I’d love to, Quick,” came the cheerful reply. Simply walking through the orderly apple trees of the Smith orchard proved to be uncommonly enjoyable alongside Grainne, listening to her energetic voice explain the layout of everything. As we worked our way along the edge of the orchard, I couldn't help but notice how she always kept my bulk in between her and the Everfree forest. Neither blaming nor commenting on her the reaction, I followed as we wound our way back around the property and up a large grassy hill. Grainne turned a surprisingly saucy grin up at me and trotted on ahead to lead up the hill’s narrow path. Not fit to complain with the new walking order, I fought to stay decent as the braided pendulum of Grainne’s tail swayed counter time to her powerful hips. The prairie grass walling us on either side blew in the wind, seemingly bowing in time to this pioneer beauty.
Stopping at a clearing below the hill’s lone tree, I joined Grainne as she looked back at the entire Smith family spread. “This is the hill we first saw our land from, and my Pa planted this here tree before we did anything else. I come up here to think, mostly.” The softer tone of Grainne’s voice caught my attention.
“It’s a fine piece of land, for sure.” Something about the quiet life of the swaying prairie grass and the picturesque view of the Smith homestead made my voice quieter to match Grainne’s. The mare turned away and made her way over to a well-worn spot at the base of the robust oak tree, beckoning you over. Taking care to settle down neither too close nor too far away from the lying mare, you followed her gaze out towards Ponyville and beyond.
“Sometimes I miss seeing Equestria. Just sitting here watching it all grow and change gets pretty hard while the farm seems ta’ shrink. You must’ve seen some fine things these past few years, travelling like you do.” A questioning glance was thrown my way. I sat back and contemplated her words as I traced the bright train tracks to Cantorlot.
“You've traveled much of what I've seen with your family, and far as that, all the roads are just as hard and dusty as you remember. As for the rest, Equestria holds a lot of beauty in places that are either passed on by or forgotten. Sometimes those places are forgotten for a reason, and sometimes you’ll find places that ain’t beautiful at all. I've found a lot of those places and reasons and what they had to offer, but now that I’m laying here I’m not sure if I’m any better off for it all. I've been travelling for years now, but only recently have I realized that nothing is a beautiful as a family home, or what you’ll find in one.”
I turned my barrel slightly towards Grainne and looked over into her sparkling eyes. Only then did I realize she had been staring at me for a good while, and almost started when she scooted towards me. Grainne moved over just enough to lean on me, and a tension that I didn't know I had melted when the softness of her coat mingled with the relative coarseness of my own. Enjoying how the braids of her mane fit just perfectly under my chin, I leaned down and gave a tentative nuzzle. Rewarded with a contented hum that vibrated both our barrels, I let loose my own contented sigh and watched the setting sun paint the rolling hills of prairie grass crimson.
The following day I reckoned that my family had waited long enough. After finishing up with the day’s harvesting, my new set of saddlebags was filled with a good portion of my gold, leaving the remainder in the old pair under my borrowed bed. Tipping my hat to the mares working in the kitchen as I made my way out of the house, I was reminded yet again to be at the dinner table on time. The trot into Ponyville passed much quicker than my thoughts, and I came into the town proper in an overall much-improved state compared to my first arrival.
Both my slightly better-groomed appearance and the fact that my staying at the Smith’s was known by now resulted in a much better acceptance by the town ponies. Covering my surprise at a few waved greetings by meeting each and every friendly face with one of my own, I found the desire to build a local reputation stronger the longer I stayed in Ponyville County. I contemplated how quickly the little town had grown on me as the door to train station swung upon freely, admitting me into the station’s surprisingly cool interior. Thankfully the small depot was empty of ponies, save for the aging flint-grey unicorn sitting languidly behind the main desk. Stepping up to the counter, the old salt tipped back his crumbled conductors cap and studied me through a pair of impressively thick eyebrows. “What can I do for ya, son?”
“I’d like to send out a telegram to Fillydelphia, and wire some money along with it.”
The rail pony nodded and rummaged under the counter for the required papers. “Fill them there forms out, an’ I get it sent out by the hour.”
I nodded and took up the proffered quill in my mouth, scribing out the telegram to my folks telling them my intentions in Ponyville, which I largely came up with as I wrote. Satisfied with the concise wording, I pushed the telegram form over and started on my wire transfer. The good old salt raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise at the length of my telegram, and began to open his muzzle in commentary until he caught sight of the amount I had down on the wire transfer. Sensing snarky comments inbound; I went ahead and reached back to my bags to start unloading the gold to back it. All perceived drowsiness was wiped from the stallion’s face as the bars began to stack upon his counter. “Damn colt, you rob a bank?” Taking up one of the nicked old bars in his magic, he studied the curious seals imprinted into each one. Half of each seal had been filed away in a past age, leaving only one alicorn of the old royal imprint intact. “A bank hundreds of years old, too, hmm? Lucky the ole bigwigs haven’t changed bar standards since whenever the heck these were made.”
“I consider them to be payment, and I will say that the bank was more of a Nightmare’s treasury.” I grinned at the old salt’s confusion. “And I will be taking the insurance with that wire.”
Stepping back out into the dusty street with an emptied set of saddlebags and content smile, I began making my way over to Barnyard Bargains. Haven taken no more than a few paces before the old Apple sense for abrewin’ trouble came up, I began to study the sparse afternoon crowd more closely. One old couple was sitting on the porch of their town home, intently watching a scene developing further on down Mane Street in the market. More ponies turned to watch as I briskly trotted up to the front of the forming herd.
“Granny”
“Granny Smith”
“Wake up, Gran!”
“Huh, wha?” The wizened old mare jolted upright and brushed away a prodding orange hoof.
“You done went and dozed off again Granny!” Granny Smith smiled at her chuckling grand-filly. A few blinks brought the rest of her family’s living room into focus. The fire sparked merrily as her other grand-foal prodded its logs, and the light snores emanating from a pile of blankets marked where the little one had nodded off, her bow quivering with each tiny lungful. Finally she regarded the visiting purple unicorn, quill still held quivering over a growing pile of parchment. Noticing the slightly disappointed face of the filly, Grainne silently wished that she had started these tales long ago. “Sorry time ran short on me, young un.’ I’ll make sure ta finish on the morrow.”
“That’s perfectly fine, Granny Smith, I just thank you for sharing all of this with me, its an amazing look into early Ponyville!” the grin on the young mare’s muzzle widened as she spread her fore hooves over the growing pile of papers surrounding her. “I may even author my own historical book series!”
Applejack patted her grandmother on the back, straightening out her signature shawl. “All thanks, ta you, Granny! The Apples really were sumthin’ back then.”
Grainne Smith’s thoughts turned once again to the yarn she was spinning. The Apple clan really had done a lot in shaping the new age of Equestria, and she was darn proud to have been a part of it. But as the elderly mare looked around at the results of a lifetime’s worth of care and love, Grainne knew that that made her even prouder. Granny Smith looked her grandfoal straight in the eye, taking a moment to admire the striking similarity they held with a certain stallion from years past “Ain’t nothing saying the current crop is any less admirable, filly.”
