Around the other sides of the orchard were two rows of peach
trees of every variety; but one cling on the north was just a
little the best of any, and we might eat all we wanted from any
tree we liked, after father tested them and said: "Peaches are
ripe!" In the middle were the apple; selected trees, planted,
trimmed, and cultivated like human beings. The apples were so
big and fine they were picked by hand, wrapped in paper, packed
in barrels, and all we could not use at home went to J. B. White
in Fort Wayne for the biggest fruit house in the state. My! but
father was proud! He always packed especially fine ones for Mr.
White's family. He said he liked him, because he was a real
sandy Scotchman, who knew when an apple was right, and wasn't
afraid to say so.

On the south side of the orchard there was the earliest June
apple tree. The apples were small, bright red with yellow
stripes, crisp, juicy and sweet enough to be just right. The
tree was very large, and so heavy it leaned far to the northeast.

This sounds like make-believe, but it's gospel truth. Almost two
feet from the ground there was a big round growth, the size of a
hash bowl. The tree must have been hurt when very small and the
place enlarged with the trunk. Now it made a grand step. If you
understood that no one could keep from running the last few rods
from the tree, then figured on the help to be had from this step,
you could see how we went up it like squirrels. All the bark on
the south side was worn away and the trunk was smooth and shiny.
The birds loved to nest among the branches, and under the peach
tree in the fence corner opposite was a big bed of my mother's