My grandmother had an apple tree in her back yard.  It was a big tree and always had a bumper crop of apples.

Now, my grand mother was elderly and not able to maintain her yard.  So, my father did the yard work for her.  This meant that in the fall, he had to pickup and dispose of all of the apples on the ground before he could mow the lawn.

Over the years,  my father came to hate that apple tree.  He complained bitterly with each and every bushel of apples that he picked up and dumped.  And, that tree always had a bumper crop of fruit.  But, my grandmother loved that tree.  So, it stayed.

Finally, one fall, the house became his.  And the first thing on the list of things to do was to get rid of that tree.  And, since I had a chain saw, I was given the honors of cutting down the tree.

Now, because of the proximity of the tree to the surrounding buildings, I thought it best to take the tree down one limb at a time.  So, with the help of an extension ladder, I made my way up into the tree and began cutting off limbs.

Now, these limbs had apples on them which were dropping to the ground every time that I moved.  And I, of course, was wearing my hard hat and visor so I was protected from the falling apples.  But no so my father, who was standing under the tree to supervise my activity.

I came through the ordeal unscathed.  But my poor father, well, he looked like he had fallen head first into a bushel of rotten apples.  I don’t know why he didn’t move.