The Littlest Apple Tree - Part 2

After finding out what the little tree was supposed to create, but yet could not, it became harder for it to talk with the older trees, for envy and jealously had started growing in his bruised heart. So, the little tree distanced itself from the others and became more and more lonely and downcast believing that it would never be able to create any apples for the farmer’s harvest.

Over the next few seasons, the little tree continued to despair as each harvest would come and go; and once again, it had not been able to create any fruit for the kind farmer. It started to think to itself one day, “What if the farmer soon comes to examine me and decides to do away with me due to my lack of fruit for his harvest? It is apparent to me that there is no chance that I could ever produce such fruit as the other trees around me! I simply remain too weak and small to ever produce an actual harvest of apples.” Day after day, it continued to contemplate these terrible ideas, leaving it in utter despair. When it would strain upwards in efforts to gaze upon the older trees with their brilliant creations, dangling from their strong branches, it felt even more pitiful at the thought of never being able to give a plentiful harvest to the farmer in payment for his kindness over the past few years. Finally because of the hopelessness and despair that had encroached upon its weary heart, its top branches fell towards the ground, in the weight of its shame.

The older apple trees around him, though lonely some days as well, continued to create many lovely and delicious apples harvest after harvest. Every late summer, the farmer would joyfully go from row to row, observing the wondrous crop of bright colored apples that the trees had created for him. He also remembered the calm sigh of the farmer when he stood before it and had observed its empty, slumping stems, now a little stronger but still void of apples. “Just wait little one… your time will come… trust me and someday, your harvest will be great.” The little tree did not believe the farmers words that day due to his great despair and continued to dread the worse of what it believed was to come.

The winds of winter came once again, bringing thousands of white flakes with it; and they danced around him, layering themselves on the little tree’s bare branches, causing him to shiver and stiffen. The little tree had not seen the farmer in many weeks and wondered if he were resting like the other trees around him. It had become afraid that if it fell into a deep sleep like the others, that one day, it would not wake up to see another dawn. However, as the cold wind continued to blow and the ice remained molded around its lean form, the little tree finally gave into its command to rest and fell into a dream filled with many sorts of hopes and horrors.

It had been a few weeks that the little tree had slept soundly, through the cold winter months leading into the time when all of the trees would finally awake in the spring. As the little tree lifted its branches towards the cool, blue sky, it was glad that it had rested now because while it still had some fears of what the future held for itself, it also, in its colorful dreams, had begun to remember the kind words of the farmer that now gave him a new sense of hope for its future. On this particular early morning, the farmer, who had not been seen by the resting trees during the winter months, came into the orchard again with an object that the little tree had not yet seen before. Two long shiny, sharp objects which joined in the middle were under his arms. He stopped two rows away from the little tree; but nonetheless, the little tree could still hear what was going on nearby. It was a slashing and snipping sound that sent shivers up the little tree’s bark. Then, as the farmer began quietly approaching it, it thought to itself, “He has come to chop me down because I have not been able to produce what he had planned for me to do.” He sadly stood, frozen, listening for the horrid noise of the shears to begin. “This is it,” he thought. “My time has run out. Oh dear farmer, forgive me for not producing any of the fruit that you so longed for me to create for your harvest.” But the farmer did not stop his forthcoming; and so, without any reserves of hope, the little tree let its branches slump down towards the soft ground.