How 'Bout Them Apples

I don’t do the mowing at our house. That is my husband’s domain, and I don’t think he minds it much.

We have a zero-turn mower we bought five years ago, an upgrade from a free mower a buddy gave him before that. The free mower was missing a lot of parts, and my husband had a contraption rigged up so the grass clippings could blow out.

The new mower has been a good one. It starts every time, which is more than I can say for the weedeater.

But I’ve noticed my husband dropping hints about the new Country Clipper models with joysticks. He looks at the sale ads that come every Wednesday and talks about the benefits of a joystick model. He leaves the sales paper out for me to see…

Our yard is big, and it was a working farm for nearly 100 years, so there are small metal farm-related pieces all over the yard — even after 100 years. We mow the pasture for hay, so there is only a little over an acre that we use as a yard, but it’s bumpy and weedy and I’d need a map to stay out of the old fence post holes dotted throughout the yard, so I let the professional take care of it.

Plus, this time of year, you’re liable to throw projectiles while mowing under the Black Walnut trees. The trees consistently rain down little green-husked bombs that explode under the pressure of a lawnmower blade or a car tire.

The squirrels patiently wait for either scenario.

My husband came in after mowing one day last spring and told me I had two apples on my apple tree. I haven’t had apples for a couple of years. I told him I couldn’t imagine…we lost the other apple tree two years ago in a hailstorm, and these trees usually need a mate to produce fruit, so I went and looked myself.

Sure enough, there were two tiny apples. We watched them grow all summer.

I just picked both of the apples. I don’t remember what kind they are because they were a gift from my kids, but they are big and pinkish/red and so sweet.

Gala maybe? Definitely not Red Delicious.

The apples weren’t perfect, of course. They had blemishes and a couple of spots, but I cherished both. My daughter dipped her part of an apple in caramel sauce.

My husband rarely eats fruit, and when I offered the rest of the apple to him, he replied with his familiar refrain, “Fruit is for pies.”

I know I should try to get him to add more non-pie fruit to his diet, but if you’ve ever had the pleasure of dealing with a Missouri mule, you know what I’m up against…

Bless him.

My former career as a Literature teacher would not let this apple miracle go, though — an extended metaphor took hold in my brain. These apples shouldn’t exist, and yet here they are.

I didn’t cut my apple tree down when the other one failed due to weather, but I sure didn’t take care of it like I should have. I didn’t prune it. I didn’t water it. I didn’t watch for pests or disease or blight.

I just left it alone and took care of my flowers.

I didn’t support the tree in any meaningful way, and yet, some pollinator did. Maybe a bee from another tree from another orchard stopped by my tree and did a little work.

Magic.

The pollinator brought something into existence that was impossible for the last two seasons. It brought fruit to a tree that should not produce. A tree living in undesirable conditions produced sweet apples.

The apples on the barren tree are the rural and red state Democrats I work with day in and day out.

They shouldn’t exist and yet here they are…living under the most inhospitable conditions. Existing, even thriving, in rural spaces or red states. Doing what no one sees them doing — producing fruit without support.

I work with rural Democrats across the country, but usually in the heartland. I listen and I speak to them. I encourage them. I am there for them, and they give me the hope to keep working in this inhospitable environment.

My friend and colleague, Michele Hornish, took that photo at a Democratic dinner last weekend in Troy, Missouri. It’s a small town about an hour from St Louis.

I was there to speak and Michele was there to do what she does — support the people running for office. To find funding for the Democratic candidates sticking their necks out for the rest of us.

To fertilize barren ground.

Last week, Michele sent over a demeaning Substack article written by a DC lawyer discussing my friends, my fellow red state Democrats. She wrote a rebuttal to the post, while I had to sit with his words for a little longer.

I had to read through it several times, but the gist of the article is that red states people are “moochers” and the anchor around the neck of our country — sinking the country.

I presume he means to punish Trump voters in red states, but I wonder if he knows there are Trump voters in blue states?

He didn’t exempt those of us who have been working for decades to drag Missouri back to purple status from his tirade. We were lumped together. I guess proximity to Republicans is enough to throw us all into one lot?

When I asked the author about his stance, he said he didn’t mean to punish Missouri, just Southern states. Well, guess what? I know there are red state Democrats working in every state and in every county and in every small town across the country.

He doesn’t know the people I know. He doesn’t know that this is our home and we haven’t been red forever and that our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents were Democrats. That we are Democrats too.

My friends, the people he called moochers, are really just hard-working people living in the same towns and on the same land they have called home for generations. They vote for Democrats when they are on their ballot.

They come together to host dinners to help fund Democratic candidates against the extremists who would go unopposed without the help and the organization of rural Democrats. They do this without party support.

They are good apples.

The DC lawyer will tell you red state Democrats don’t exist. That we can’t exist. That it’s not possible.

But that’s because he has never witnessed the miracle of apples appearing where they should not be. On a supposed barren tree.

I am here on the ground. I go to the places he would never go. I listen to the people he would never listen to. They aren’t moochers — they are worker bees.

I watch the pollination in real time. I watch people step up without support. I see the red state Democrats rally. I see them blossom. I witness the fruit of their work ripen.

Magic.

We aren’t perfect — who is?

We are organic, and have our blemishes and sometimes we fail. We can go years without producing change, but other times, we create something that shouldn’t exist.

The point is, these red state Democrats don’t give up. Even without support. Even in the worst conditions.

They thrive.

~Jess