The boy sat alone in the grass, taking refuge from the autumn sun in a small island of apple tree shade.

“Well, hello nephew. Are you here to collect some of these sweet apples for your trip?”

“Leave me alone, Uncle!” the boy shouted.

“I’m not going home!” The muffled voice escaped the little cavity created by the boy’s head resting on his arms wrapped around his knees.

Uncle Moha stood slightly behind Pranjha, with his hands on his hips, inspecting the dozen or so ripe apples that the tree had to offer.

“I’m not here to bother you, boy. I’m just here to grab a sweet apple or two for myself,” he said, making casual conversation.

Pranjha turned his head and looked at his uncle.

“They’re sour again.”

The clean streaks down his dirty cheeks gave a testimony of a difficult moment.

“Do you think so?” replied Uncle Moha while he thoughtfully cradled his chin with one hand and with the other held up a freshly picked piece of fruit, turning it slowly for intense scrutiny.

“Well…It was a very wet summer…and it is still a very young sweet apple tree, after all.”

He paused then enthusiastically added, “You know…I really think adding that ash to the roots in the spring probably helped some.”

Moha took a bite and mindfully chewed. His eyes looked from side to side as he processed the flavor explosion in his mouth.

“Yes, they might not be to their full sweetness just yet but I have no doubt they will be even sweeter next year,” he said, glancing down and meeting Pranjha’s eyes.

“I’m never going back home.”

“Oh,” remarked Uncle Moha as he walked slowly around to the other side of the little tree.

“That is unfortunate,” he added matter-of-factly as he watched a lone bee searching for something sweet amongst the leaves.

“You will be missed.”

Pranjha swung his head to where his uncle now stood.

“Father will only miss the work I do for him! He should not have sent you looking for me!”

“I’m just here to get some sweet apples, boy. Your father did not ask me to look for you.”

“Well your apples are sour and Father is a fool!” Pranjha blurted as he buried his face back into his knees.

“Well...first of all, my rude little nephew… your father seems to own too much land and too many animals to be considered a fool.”

He turned to address the boy directly and continued, “Secondly, it is still a young tree and eventually it will feed generations of our family with sweet apples just like the one that you and I picked the seed from. Do you remember that? Hmm? Do you remember that day that we planted this tree, you little viper?”

Pranjha looked at him with sad, remorseful eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“You are forgiven, you little dummy!” Moha exclaimed with a laugh. “Now move over and share the shade.”

The large man squatted down beside the boy, leaned back to plant himself on the grass with a grunt, then scooted in tight against his nephew, giving him a couple playful jabs with his elbow.

“So tell me—what horrible atrocity has occurred that inspired you to forever leave your warm, dry bed and your mother’s hot, delicious meals?”

Pranjha stared solemnly at the road, took a deep breath and offered his testimony.

“Father will not allow me to go to town with my friends. He doesn’t trust me. He never trusts me. He says my friends are a bad influence and will only get me into trouble.”

“You mean again, right? He thinks they will get you into trouble…again.”

Pranjha quickly swung his head, his eyes stretched upward to lock eyes with his uncle’s.

“That was not my fault!” he exclaimed.

Moha laughed and leaned in closer until their foreheads nearly touched.

“I believe that is probably your father’s point.”

Pranjha turned his head away to hide the smile he was fighting to subdue.

The lone honey bee was joined by a couple friends and they played noisily amongst the hanging fruit above.

“Well, I’m older now, you know.”

“Yes. Yes, you are,” Moha agreed solemnly.

In the distance cows began mooing like one had whispered a joke and they all erupted in bovine laughter.

Moha continued, “And if you want to make it to town before sunset, old man, you should get going…BUT...” He put a hand to his cheek as if a memory had suddenly burst into the room.

“…but before you go, and since you are already here, how about you help your poor, old, ancient uncle move the cattle to the lower pasture? They sound awfully hungry over there.”

Pranjha thought for a moment then said, “No, that’s probably not a good idea. Father says the lower pasture is still too green for them right now.”

“Oh, I see,” Uncle Moha said, nodding his head. “And why is that?”

“If they are allowed to freely roam down there, they will eat too much of the green and become bloated. They don’t know any better.”

“Ah. Your father keeps the cattle from the green because the cattle cannot learn from their mistakes?” asked Moha.

Pranjha turned suspiciously back toward his uncle with squinted eyes and reluctantly offered a slow, “Yeah.”

“And yet he knows exactly where you are and what you are contemplating,” Moha said, looking into the distance, pretending to watch a bird that wasn’t there.

“He does?”

Uncle Moha threw his hands in the air to punctuate exasperation and exclaimed, “Of course he does!”

Pranjha looked at his uncle while the pieces of the puzzle clicked together in his mind.

“Well, daylight’s wasting, Pranjha. You’d better hit the road, you wise old fool!…Your lessons await!”

The boy stood and slowly brushed the grass off his legs. Off in the valley below the little garden, one of the neighbors was burning a brush pile. The thin pillar of smoke snaked its way into the blue sky.

Pranjha peered down the road and considered the liberties that waited for him in that direction. Momentarily, his gaze dropped to the grass but then pivoted over his shoulder, up the path towards the home that knew him so dearly. He calmly closed his eyes and for the first time truly understood that love’s hands aren’t always gentle and that not every kindness necessarily feels like freedom.

He drew in a deep breath and reached high above his head. …And as Pranjha reached, he grew…and the tree grew with him. And as its branches broadened, so also did the branches of his family and the years were kind to them both.

Pranja wrapped one hand over a thick branch overhead and thrust his other hand into a cluster of leaves. His searching hand immediately brushed against one of the many plump apples dangling from the great tree above. His fingers gently embraced its cool, smooth surface and with a light tug, he separated it from the branch, brought it down for a quick inspection, then tenderly handed it to the little girl staring up at him with excited anticipation.

“Here you go, daughter. This one is nice and ripe.”

“I don’t think I want to do this,” said Little Sister, staring at the apple she now held in both of her little hands.

“You have to!” Big Sister exclaimed. “We all do!” She added, holding up a plump apple of her own.

From the other side of the tree, their older brother added with a broad smile, “This is the year; I can feel it! It was a dry summer, after all, you know.”

“What if they really are sweet this year?” asked Little Sister with serious concern.

“If they are sweet this year, then we all owe Uncle Moha a sincere apology,” answered the children’s mother, who was unstacking empty baskets near the edge of the little garden.

“Just think sweet thoughts,” said Pranjha and gave the little girl a wink.

“Ok, here we go!” shouted Big Sister. “On three. One Two. Three!”

Everyone in the happy little band took a generous bite of their apples and began to chew in unison.

“Mmmm…so good,” said Brother around a puffed-out cheek, his eyes closed tightly.

“So sweet,” Big Sister added through clenched teeth and downturned lips, juice dribbling down her chin.

Little Sister said nothing but her face was caught in a weird distortion somewhere between panic and disgust.

Mother was ultimately the first to surrender, shooting a chunk of apple across the grass with a loud “Gaaahhh!!” and everyone followed suit except Pranjha, who just stood there chewing as they all finished their ceremonial spitting and spewing.

“You know,” he said, “I think they really are getting sweeter.”

Everyone froze and stared at him with incredulous looks on their faces.

“Are you joking?” Little Sister asked, and the entire family suddenly burst into raucous laughter.

When the group had caught their breath, Mother set them to work. “Alright, children, take a basket and gather as many as you can. Make sure they are ripe. These will make excellent cider.”

“After the apple tarts!” said Brother.

“And applesauce!” added Little Sister.

“But first —apple candies!” countered Big Sister.

“Oooh, yes!” everyone agreed out loud.

Father hoisted the two older children into the tree and the little family spent the next bit of time gathering apples until the baskets were heaped high and could hold no more.

Pranjha shifted his basket over to one hip and opened the garden gate for his family to file through.

“Thank you, Uncle Moha!” they each happily exclaimed as they exited the garden.

Pranjha spun around as he exited himself and latched the gate behind him with a click. A smile spread across his face as he stood at the entrance and paused to listen to the noise of his children talking and laughing as they walked up the path towards home. He shifted the weight of the basket back into both hands then set the apple basket down onto the middle of the crushed stone path. For a few moments he just stood there, listening to the voices growing more distant and breathing in the smells of autumn. Pranjha turned and crouched down onto one knee, carefully brushed a few fallen leaves away with his hands then tenderly laid his palm upon the low, flat stone lovingly and prominently set by the garden entrance.

“Thank you again, Uncle Moha.”