Harvest
It was a bright and sunny summer afternoon at Sweet Apple Acres, an expansive farm that overlooked the young town of Ponyville. The family of apple loving earth ponies were all busy doing their part of gathering the fresh fruits of many varieties off the trees, whether it be bucking the trees for the apples to fall or gathering them in barrels.
One such pony was Little Mac, a small red colt with a bright orange mane and a large green apple on his flank. He was out with his dad, Bright Mac, in the field filling up the barrels with apples that rested on the ground. However, as the large bright yellow stallion loaded a couple of barrels onto a cart to transport them to the barn, Little Mac jumped in front of the cart’s shaft.
“Woah there, son,” Bright Mac called out with a chuckle and a mild southern twang, “you wanna pull the cart this time ‘round?” Little Mac eagerly nodded. That was when Bright Mac started showing concern. “Ah’m not so sure you’ll be able to pull it yet…”
The red colt’s smile began to fade, he too felt sure he could pull it, he could be big and strong like his dad. Catching his son’s dejection, he smiled back and lowered his head so the pair’s green eyes could meet. “Ah mean, for starters, you don’t ‘ave your yoke on ya,” he playfully remarked, referring to a large wooden frame that hung around his neck. “Here, you can have mine.” He proceeded to take the yoke off his neck and placed it over Little Mac’s head.
The colt could fit through the hole of the yoke with ease and hung around his neck with a gaping gap underneath. “Now if we fit this on…” muttered his dad, who moved around to the side of the cart to attach the shaft to the iron bars of the top of the yoke. Firmly securing his son to the cart, he moved back around to the front to rest a hoof on his son’s back. “There, now ya look like a pony ready to pull a cart!” he happily remarked, with a wide grin and arching brows. Little Mac beamed, excited to pull the cart as his dad does. “Ah’right, off we go!”
Bright Mac turned around and started to move forward, and at the same time Little Mac moved forward, but the cart moved no further than an inch. The red colt pulled and pulled, leaning as far forward as he could and dragging his hooves along the dirt. No matter how much effort and strain he put in, the cart would not budge.
His father throughout all this was patiently smiling, hoping he would eventually move. However, as minutes passed, and other members of the Apple family were busy gathering or carrying their apples around them, work needed to be taken care of.
“Okay, Little Mac, good work,” interrupted Little Mac to get him back to standing still, “Ah think ah’ll take over from here.” With a single goof, he lifted the yoke off Little Mac’s head and moves over to attach it back to his own. He then twisted his hooves into the dirt and pushed off, the cart moved briskly along with the stallion. With a look of endearment, he encouraged Little Mac to follow.
Little Mac, on the other hoof, had his head hung low and trailed behind. He was disappointed in himself; he could not get the cart to move a single inch.
Later in the day, the whole family had finished off the harvest with a feast. There were smiles and laughter, but it was not a bright and happy occasion for everypony. Elsewhere during the harvest, Little Mac’s sister Applejack had been busy setting traps for a fictional creature called the Great Seedling and fell into one of them.
Their Granny Smith and great-aunt Goldie Delicious found it funny, and both their mum and dad were smiling with calm relief that their daughter was okay, all while their baby sister Applebloom was absentmindedly resting on Bright Mac’s lap, but Applejack was not. She sat in her seat with her head down in misery, guilty for being stuck and letting everypony else do more work.
Yet for Little Mac, that was not the worst part of that day. He sat at the table, looking glum, unable to stop thinking about how he could not pull that cart. He was the biggest of the three Apple kids, he was supposed to be the strongest, and yet he could not move a couple of apple-filled barrels on a wooden cart with big wheels on them.
He wanted to be like his dad, he always admired his natural strength and kindness, but how was Little Mac going to be as strong as him? As he stayed with his thoughts, he could hear the conversation going around the table. “That sure was a good harvest, we should be livin’ comfortable for several months after that,” proudly proclaimed Granny Smith in a stronger southern twang.
As much as she was satisfied with the output from a full day’s work, she wasn’t much for resting so soon. “We should prepare for the next harvest, that bein’ said. Dem trees ain’t gonna get plantin’ themselves, neither is the ground gonna be ready for plantin’, and I dun wanna start late like last summer.”
Her son wasn’t all that worried, “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Ma,” he non-clamantly brushed off the judging glare of her mother from the other end of the table. “The plough’s already sittin’ on the field, ah can get it started first thing tomorrah mornin’.” As Bright Mac calmly reassured Granny Smith that everything was ready, Little Mac’s eyes lit up. He had suddenly got an idea.
The Apple family thought it was strange that Little Mac was eager to get to bed early, for the older members of the family it made a nice change of pace to settle down for the night. Little did they know that Little Mac was taking in as much sleep as possible for a plan he was set to carry out.
In the early hours of the morning, he opens one of his green eyes to peek and creeped out of his bed. He snuck out of his bedroom, and into the room next door, where his mum and dad were sleeping and cuddling peacefully in a king-sized bed. He looked around the walls, until he found what he was looking for, his dad’s yoke. He carefully unhooked it from the wall, and slowly made his way out, cautious of all the creaking made from the wooden floors.
Delicately making his way down the stairs, he grabs a long line of rope and makes his way outside. There was a cool breeze as he made his way out to the field, the blue sky was slowly brightening up as an orange glow had begun to creep over the horizon, Little Mac knew he didn’t have long to make a start.
Fortunately, even within the limited light, he found the plough. It was exactly where his dad said it would be metal blades dug deep into the flat plain pointing parallel to the white fence. He had seen his dad use this plough several times, he was able to tie it to the yoke.
With the yoke hanging off his neck, a determined look on his face, he set his sights on ploughing the feels. Little Mac took a few steps forward, his body pulled on the plough and… the rope tightened, and there was no movement. Like with the apple cart from the day prior, he leant forward as far as he could, dragged his little hooves, but the plough did not budge.
As the sound of a rooster’s crow signalled the beginning of the day, Little Mac was sitting on the dirt, sweating, and exhausted after trying and trying. He was on the verge of giving up, but then he remembered something his dad did.
He stood up, and like his dad, he twisted his hooves into the dirt, leaving deep imprints on the ground. His little hooves pushed out from the dirt, his legs shook from the strain, but suddenly he felt a jolt from the rope. Little Mac felt the plough still tightly attached to him, but it moved, causing him to lean slight further forward.
As such, he kept pushing, the jolts began to be more frequent, until the colt could feel himself moving at a constant pace. Any time he felt a hoof move behind him, he would quickly raise it and stomp in front of him to keep a grip. The friction and weight made it feel incredibly slow, but with his head down and eyes firmly shut tight, he had no idea of knowing how far he would step.
Suddenly, Little Mac felt something hit his head. He flinched back in surprise, he reopened his eyes, catching his sights on his mud-filled hooves. Slowly, he panned his head upwards, he saw bright yellow hooves, which followed by a bright yellow coat, it was only when he saw the tips of a red mane that he realised who was in front of him.
Little Mac tilted his head far back, and he was looking into the green eyes of his dad, who looked down on him. “Y’know son, if ya wanted to help me out with ploughin’ the fields, you could’ve asked,” Bright Mac told his son, his arms folded, and eyebrow raised. Little Mac hung his head in shame, feeling foolish for believing he would not be caught.
As Bright Mac leaned to the side to see the dirt trail across the field, he started to smile. “Will say though, you didn’t do a bad job for your first go at it.” Little Mac raised his head, surprised to see his dad was pleased, what with sneaking out of the house, taking his yoke, and pulling a plough unsupervised for a long period of time.
“How ‘bout we get this field done before breakfast?” Bright Mac suggested, “Just be sure to keep your eyes open next time.” Little Mac’s face started to glow again; his dad wanted his help. He nodded eagerly, and Bright Mac moved the plough to start a new line.
Confident that he could now be as strong as his dad, he pushed forward, only needing a slight push from Bright Mac to get moving. His eyes fixed in front of him, he worked the field, while his dad proudly followed beside him. “Y’know, if you keep this up, you’ll be big enough for that yoke to fit ya perfectly,” remarked Bright Mac, noticing the large gap in the hole of the yoke hooked around Little Mac’s neck.
Many years would go past, the colt grew up, and yet Big Mac still works on that farm. He still uses the same old yoke his father used, and it fits him perfectly.