apple orchard.

Beautiful orchard in the Annapolis Valley, N. S. Photo credit: Fudge Benedict.

It was a ham sandwich. And it was going to be delicious. I had prepared it with Yum Bakery’s Good Hearty Bread (a mix of grains and seeds), a slice of black forest ham, a piece of green, crisp lettuce and a little bit of creamy, golden butter. But I never got to enjoy my creation. Someone else ate it.

I made the sandwich to have for lunch while apple picking, part of a Horton High School band fundraiser. As a trumpet player (and not a good one) I was in a Nova Scotia orchard twisting off apples and piling them in a big wooden box. Our efforts would hopefully help pay for a trip to the U.S. East Coast.

This autumn labour would bear fruit in the spring when we took the elevator up the Empire State Building and went down to the Boston Aquarium. At the time, it was a lot of hard work. The orchard might look idyllic with its red, red apples hanging off the sturdy brown branches amidst pretty velvet green leaves but it seemed like when I picked one Northern Spy or Cortland or Red Delicious, two more took its place. The harvest was never-ending.

The Saturday was a bust too. I had to get up early for the drive out to the Annapolis Valley farm when I just wanted to sleep in for once. It was a chilly and foggy morning too and the tall wet grass soaked my sneakers and made my feet damp and cold. Two things were keeping me going, though: my fantastic sandwich and a chance to see the cute band guy.

I was new to Horton. The large high school was a catchment for smaller rural junior highs. After Grade 9 at Wolfville Junior High, my classmates and I bused it to Horton High for Grade 10. I didn’t relish the idea of going to a new place but it was a chance to meet new friends. Indeed, I was picking apples with a few recently acquired buddies whom I’m still friends with today.

apple orchard.

Those apples look delicious. Just like my sandwich. Photo credit: Fudge Benedict.

Among the unfamiliar faces (to me) was a boy who was tall and skinny with dark brown hair. I don’t remember his name or what instrument he played, only that he was a year older and I liked him. Like-liked him. I had yet to say a word to the guy and I doubt he even knew I was in the orchard but I hoped he would notice me in the romantic, bucolic setting. I was sure the valley mist made my eyes sparkle and my cheeks as rosy as the apples.

My friends and I quickly picked our first tree clean. When we moved onto the next challenge I left my coat and plastic bag — with my lunch in it — under apple-free boughs. My crush wasn’t as industrious as us. In fact, he didn’t pick anything at all. He lounged by a nearby tree, watching us until two of his buddies, one of them a girl, came to visit.

After a few hours of gathering apples my friends and I decided to have lunch. The image of my delectable sandwich enticed me to walk faster to our original tree. I couldn’t wait to have a bite and taste all the hearty ham goodness of my snack.

What’s this? The plastic bag was empty. No trace of bread or meat or even a crumb anywhere. My sandwich was gone. Gone! I wanted to cry and bit my untasty lip to fend off tears.

Then I saw my crush. He was sitting in the same place I left him with his pals. They hadn’t been working at all. Just trolling around the apple tree. An arm’s length away from my sandwich.

apples.

I might not have my sandwich but there are tons of crunchy apples to enjoy. Photo credit: Fudge Benedict.

I could never prove he was the one who ate my fine meal. I could never say it was him. I never confronted him or even asked him if he was the one who enjoyed my lunch. That was the end of my sandwich and the end of that crush.