Making Art in the Apple Orchard

Wandering around the apple orchard, I made art.

I could try to tell you that I made this flower-covered apple wand for my son, but that would not be true. He was busy running down the orchard alleys with a long branch that had fallen off a tree, alternating between yelling “Hockey!” and “Vacuum!” My mom was walking ahead of us, looking out at the surrounding soft blue-green hills of Estrie, just north of Vermont.

It had rained that morning, so the orchard was empty except for the three of us. Dramatic clouds covered the sky, making the greens and blues and browns more saturated. We were alone in the world, walking through some mystical primordial garden.

My son spotted his stick as he ran through one particularly long row of apple trees. At this age, he is constantly on the lookout for Interesting Things in his environment; the world is his toy. This perspective on life seemed fun, so I started looking around for what might be fun for me to play with.

First I found the stick, solid and straight, with a sharp end from where it had snapped off the apple tree. That spike was begging to be speared into something, so I found a non-mushy fallen apple and jabbed it on. This felt good. But as any child who has ever played with a toy fairy wand can tell you, this object needed some accoutrements. I looked around me and noticed all sorts of little flowers and plants in the path. I decorated my apple creation by tying on little purple clover flowers, yellow and white blossoms, different textural greens. 

My mom, my son, and I walked single-file through that Edenic orchard in a kind of contemplative prayer, each deeply engaged with our surroundings. My mom at the front, looking out at the hills and back to her family; my son in the middle, creating pretend worlds while being fully present in this one; and me at the rear, inspired by my mom’s gaze and my son’s imagination, inviting myself to make art because it felt good.