My family owned the
orchard. My father taught
me how to run it, and
do whatever it took
to maximize yield, to
preserve freshness, and to
amplify color. I
gave my children stakes in
the business, and we fought
over the additives
and fertilizers, the
chemical sprays and the
preservatives. They had
this strange idea about
how people wanted less
colorful and shorter-
lasting apples, and that
they would pay more for them.

I kept their organic
crusade at bay until
I passed on. Then they made
their changes anyway.

But maybe they were right.
I’ve been buried here for
years; the worms won’t touch me.