User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 37

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4th Era 130, 10th of Frostfall, Summerset Isle
Much of the apple orchard was beginning to die off.

"Despite our accomplishments as Elves, you'd think that we would have created fruit trees that would live longer so that we wouldn't have to replace them every few decades." Curwe stated, leaning on the shovel. It was her second time replacing the trees; her first time was when she was a teenage girl (who complained about having to help) and wandered around "helping" her parents. Now she had to do it herself...barring that she had Balasian's help, that is.

"I suppose that's why you always kept planting those apple seeds out the back door," he remarked, wiping his forehead with his arm. "They were replacements."

Despite having worked long hours outdoors along with his love, he was still the purest white he had been when he had lived on Pyandonea, while Curwe had a tan. He didn't know why this was, but it was. He stuck out like a beacon amongst the golden sand along the beach. Not that that oddity would make him leave. He loved Curwe, and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but this trait puzzled him for the last thirty years.

"Yes," she replied.

"I'm afraid I've never planted a tree in my life." he admitted.

She stared at him briefly before replying. "Then follow my lead. I'll give you pointers if you need them."

"How about I dig the holes," he offered, taking the shovel from her hands. "And you can place the trees? Then I can watch how it's done."

She looked up into his featureless, white eyes. After a pause, she assented. "All right."

As they walked to the orchard, Curwe pulled the wagon that he had made recently, containing a few of the replacement saplings and some sloshing buckets of water. Balasian carried the shovel in one hand and another young apple tree in the other.

* * *

"How deep do I make the holes?" he asked as he planted the shovel in the dirt.

"This much," she said, measuring with her hands, indicating about a foot.

As he dug and piled the dirt off to the side, he asked, "Why are we digging new holes, anyway? Why not just cut off the dying ones and plant the new ones there?"

As she sat on the ground nearby, surrounded by buckets of water and bare-root saplings, she looked up at him from under her eyebrows. "I'd prefer to let them die a natural death. Besides, have you ever tired to dig a hole through a clump of roots?"

"No," he replied, leaning on the shovel, having finished the hole. "I'd barely dug a hole before I came here."

"Its anything but easy, let's just put it that way," she said, picking out a tree to go in the hole. "Small roots are okay, but anything as big or bigger than your finger is a pain to chop through with the shovel's blunt edge."

"Oh, that doesn't sound like fun." he remarked, watching her settle the little tree in its new home.

"Yeah," she replied, clapping her hands to rid them of dirt. "By the time these trees die, the original orchard's root balls will have decayed, meaning that we can plant new little trees there."

"How many times have you done this? You seem very well versed in its workings." he asked, filling in the hole while she held the tree steady.

"Once, with my parents. That was a long time ago, though. I remember a little, and my mother left behind notes and a book all about caring for orchards and planting trees." She looked up. Balasian was staring at the leftover dirt. "What?"

He looked over. "We filled the hole in, but..." he motioned. "What do we do with the extra soil?"

"We make a small birm around the tree. That way, when I pour the water, it won't escape onto the grass."

"Ah..." he nodded, understanding. As she formed the birm, he retrieved a bucket of water from the hand cart.

"Do I pour the whole thing?"

"Yes." she replied, getting up off the ground. "But gently. Don't upend the whole bucket at once."

"Why not?" he grinned. "Heavy rain is like that. We had one just a few weeks ago."

"That's different, and you know it!" she protested.

"It is?" he asked, playing dumb, keeping the grin plastered on his face.

"Of course it is! And don't play dumb with me." she retorted, scowling, hands on her hips.

"But I love your reaction when I do," he said, laughing. Curwe's scowl deepened and she folded her arms over her chest as he roared in laughter. However, as he laughed, she felt her own funny bone being lightly tickled, and it was not long before the scowl left her face and she disolved into giggles herself. It was hard to stay mad at him for long. He was too cute and light hearted to remain angry with.