Anger was my Father. Generated, towards anybody in the way of keeping him from his garden. My father was obsessed with gardening. I don’t mean that he had a victory garden in the backyard where he grew some fresh vegetables for the table. I mean the god damn biggest garden next to having a farm you can imagine. And yes, I mean huge.
We lived in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, called Northfield, half way between Cleveland and Akron. The property size was about 150 feet by 150 feet so how big could the garden be? Well the backyard was 90 percent filled with a strawberry patch and a couple of tomato plants and a dwarf apple tree.
My father thought that tree was the Tree of Knowledge. He worshipped that tree. He would spray for bugs mixing a special blend of DDT and fertilizer to both combat those damn Jap beetles and grow delicious red beauties-strawberries. Well, that damn tree never grew any apples. Yes, I mean no matter what Garden Man did they would only blossom each glorious spring and each Fall no apples!
But, one magical year what do you know? At the end of summer there were three apples on that damn tree. Not big, not small, just right. If my father could have he would have sat out by his tree every night waiting for them to ripen to perfection. So summer passes, the fruit matures and picking time is near at hand. On a fine late August morning my father walks out to his tree to see how the fruit are doing and..
WHAT’S THIS . .
Someone in the night had stolen his precious fruit. It turns out that one of the boys next door, Mark, who was heavy into Led Zeppelin, the Steelers, Raquel Welch, and smoking pot, had lifted natures bounty on a munchie fit. God imparts knowledge in mysterious ways.