Maggie's Farm

After we said some words over the grave, and after some shed some tears, we put Dad's ashes (surprisingly-heavy box of ashes) in a shallow hole next to Moms' and we all went to pick some apples and pears from Dad's trees at the farm last Sunday.

It was just wonderful that is the best year for apples, ever. My pic is just a small sample. The mini pears are as sweet as sugar and his apple varieties are spicey. Stood on chairs and used a butterfly net to harvest the high ones.

I claimed that our Dunkin Donuts coffees and the fruit were our family's Communion after the burial. We did not dare running it through a church. Everybody picked and ate some apples.

Thus did we sneak some Jesus into my cranky Yankee atheist, Bible-loving, distinguished Yale prof Dad's burial. I think it would have been marginally ok with him but he still would have been embarrassed by the attention and sentiment.

And likely, would have had some clever caustic quip about it all. Anyway, excellent apples. Everybody grabbed a box or bag and took a bunch home with them.

He always said that we could toss his cadaver in the river when he died. Well, the box of ashes is darn close to the trout stream.