The Slice : Neither golden nor delicious

It seems like such a waste.

Every year, the apple tree in our backyard produces a profusion of fruit. And every year, we throw it all away.

The plop-plop-plopping of falling apples began weeks ago. These hard, lumpy spheres tend to be chartreuse. Many are no bigger than golf balls.

If past years prove a reliable guide, the tree’s gravity affirmations will continue past the first snow. By then, the unloved apples will be plumper and a dull red.

Those still clinging to branches will look like holiday ornaments.

I have no idea what kind of apple tree it is. I tasted one of its offerings several autumns ago. It did not have much flavor.

I suppose if I was a serious gardener, I could use the fallen fruit for compost. But I’m not.

So I toss the apples into the green waste barrel and roll it to the curb, a pointless harvest.

It doesn’t seem right.

There’s some evidence that squirrels and birds dig their way to a few of the seeds. Still, most of the apples wait for me to pick them up and pretend that I am a second baseman underhanding the ball to the oncoming shortstop. The green barrel and I have turned a lot of fantasy double-plays.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. In they go.

My neighbor’s unimpressed cat watches and wonders when a tuna snack will be forthcoming.

It doesn’t take long for the collected apples to produce a fruity aroma that’s still sweet, still prefermented. That signature-of-the-season smell stokes my imagination.

What would it take to turn these tree droppings into moonshine cider or wine?

I could pass out bottles of Uncle Paul’s Apple Elixir to friends and colleagues. Perhaps I’d call it Old Marmot Autumn Applejack. Or maybe I might just pour the hard-stuff mash into jugs marked “XXX.”

Just have to watch out for the revenuers.

Of course, there are always apple pies or apple sauce. Sure, the one apple I tasted seemed pretty bland. But brown sugar or maple syrup might get some fruity concoction up on its feet.

Ah, who am I kidding. That’s not going to happen.

I like having an apple tree in the backyard. It’s such a Northwesty thing. The white blossoms each spring are gaudy-gorgeous, even to a guy who doesn’t always notice that sort of thing.

But I still feel twinges of guilt about throwing away theoretical food. Unlike the fleeting twinges in my back from bending over so many times, those never completely go away.

“Today’s Slice question: Are new parents required to use their child’s name as their computer password?