Thanks for the drop in Cory. Yes slabs & thank you.
Meanwhile I am going through a type mourning as the 09 hedge apple season is almost over. Hence this poemGrandmother Hedge Apple
Since last December had waited
until—again--it was fall.
Every morning I walked past her—Grandmother Hedge Apple.
Looking and waiting for her to release
Her lumpy and beautiful fruit.
Through November I waited.
Until that week—
The week it took four men to cut her down.
During those days I held vigil
For she was a great one
And needed my view as much as I needed to see her.
Her cut open trunk filled the air with spiky fragrance
And I found
I coveted her mass—wondering what things could be made
From her stringy orange flesh
And could only imagine what fires she would make.
When the stump grinders had gone
I went to the mound of fruit at her roots.
Of all the hedge apples I've held in my hands
Those tender green children
They were the ones I loved most.
Jean Ann Bolliger
© February 2004