Kind of Apple-y
I grew up in a small suburban town, in a red brick house build by my Grandad. The house was surrounded on all sides by a big, lush garden. It was a great garden, with hiding places under the bushes, a swing and a small corner with lots and lots of rhubarb in summer. Mom used to make a mean rødgrød - a Danish fruit soup/jelly thing, served with cream and sugar (for the crunch) - out of those rhubarbs. I wish I could have said it had had an apple tree, but it didn’t. It would have been perfect in it, though. It should have been one of those huge, old ones with big, gnarly branches, in the spring adorned with delicate white blossoms and come fall, full of red and yellow orbs, like mini chinese lanterns, swinging about in the rough winds. Maybe, if you were lucky, there’d still be a couple left for the first couple weeks of winter, too. Alas. No such tree. Now, I live in the city, in an apartment, and I stil have no apple tree. But in my uncle’s little house, a mere 30 minute bike ride fr...