ghost apple


8/3 Today we picked the white apples. They have skins the color of old yellowed bones, and translucent flesh so that when you slice them open you can see the seeds through the flesh. Bone-and-glass apples, parchment apples, ghost apples.

They bruise easily, a purplish brown rather too similar to a bruise on human skin. If you pick one up, there’s a good chance the shapes of your fingertips will be marked on it the next day. I want to try writing words on them by pressing on them with a pencil eraser sometime.

They smell very faintly of perfume, maybe roses. They do not smell like apples. Apple maggots never infest them.

They’re lovely. They are also disgusting. Mealy and soft, with no flavor whatsoever. They’re not sweet. They’re not even sour. It’s like a mouth full of wet cotton ball. I’m pretty sure I spit it out the first time I tried one.

I hope you all understand how weird this is: even the goats are reluctant to eat them. They’ll eat an apple or two, but then they lose interest (except in keeping the sheep from eating any, of course).

I have no idea why a previous resident planted the ghost-apple tree. If they have any flavor at all, only the restless dead can taste it.

pinkrangerv can have them all. :) We’ve tried making applesauce, though. Not even that helped.

( PS I’m trying to act all mysterious about it, but the actual reason they don’t get infested by apple maggots is probably that their growing time is too short to support the apple maggot fly life cycle. It’ll probably be another month or two before the rest of our apples are ripe. )

Apple Cider, I Don't Mind (Acoustic)
Modern Baseball
Apple Cider, I Don't Mind (Acoustic)

“Trust is something every growing relationship needs. Without trust, all your conversations are just questions and doubts. I lost my best friend and partner, and didn’t know who to blame. “Apple" is a toast to looking at past mistakes as a chance to move forward.” - Brendan Lukens on Apple Cider, I Don’t Mind.


Hello, Pagan McGhostyPants and Mysterious Personage Whose Reasons For Wanting The Seeds Of Inedible White Apples Remain Unknown. I will call you Cyanide McAssassinyPants, obviously.

I would be happy to send you ghost-apple seeds for the price of shipping, provided this action would not anger Customs and/or Apple Maggot Quarantine Enforcement Officers in the area and cause them to send their screechy attack pterodactyls after us. Drop me a line in July when we harvest the white apples.

However, the seeds would most likely not grow into another bizarre white apple tree, as apples do not grow true to type. Apple trees grown from seed do not resemble their parents; it would grow into some other bizarre apple tree.

Modern apple trees are abominations of mad science, created by cloning. You plant an apple seed to get a little apple tree, then you cut off all its branches and fuse on a branch from an old tree you like. The tree grows into a copy of the old tree.

Each “breed” of apple is actually a single tree, cloned thousands or millions of times.

There is only one Golden Delicious tree, cloned into orchards around the world. It is waiting.

There is only one Granny Smith. It is not your grandmother. It is not anyone's grandmother.

We are making Strange Things, and giving them names like Pink Lady and Golden Delicious and Granny Smith. We eat of their flesh. They are emblems of the education of children.

This will not end well for us.


Two Ghosts 

                    –Harry Styles

all about the green- a collection of showtunes which prove that money makes the world go around

money, money, money - mamma mia! // more - ghost: the musical // big money - see what i wanna see // money - cabaret // i don’t understand the poor - a gentleman’s guide to love and murder // mr. cladwell - urinetown // the life that you wished for - chaplin // all for the best - godspell // the money song - avenue q // that’s rich - newsies // diamonds are a girl’s best friend - gentlemen prefer blondes // wealth - the apple tree // all about the green - the wedding singer // i’m outta here - ghost: the musical // boho days - tick, tick…BOOM! // rent - rent // 96000 - in the heights // and the money kept rolling in - evita //


1/19 Moss and tiny scaly green pipe organ growing on an apple tree.

And now for another exciting  mildly interesting  less boring than doing your taxes round of What Is Up With The Ghost Apple Tree. A couple of smart people suggested that probably nobody has developed a breed of tree with Creepy Transparent Apples That Taste Like Cotton Balls on purpose, and the Ghost Apple tree might have been grown from seed.

I expected this to be pretty easy to sort out. We have another tree planted the same year that I could compare trunks and grafting scars with. Soup-Nose’s Tree made completely ordinary sweet-tart red apples before a personal encounter with the Floppy Eared Harbinger Of The Coming Goatpocalypse Which Spares No Greenery Nor Undergarments Made Of Plant Fibers.

With all the deductive acumen of Farm Batman, I discovered that Boy There Sure Are A Lot Of Lichens, Woodpecker Holes, and Goat Bites On These Trunks, but there was too much going on to tell if the Ghost Apple Tree was grafted. 

So I fell back on the Weak Crotch Gambit. Wild or seedling apple trees often have narrow forks, where bark gets trapped between the two diverging branches, making one or both sides of the fork likely to break off entirely. Proper Apple Breeds have Mighty And Fierce Crotches (may not be the actual technical term) instead. 

Unfortunately, both Soup Nose’s Tree and the Ghost Apple Tree have one or more weak crotches, making this an unhelpful way to distinguish clones from wildling apples. Also, four other trees selected from the orchard at random also feature weak crotches. 

The Weak Crotch Gambit has failed.

Today’s Important Lessons:

  1. I might not actually be Farm Batman
  2. I am the proud owner of an entire orchard full of weak crotches. 

Not my gif. Gif credit goes to the amazing creators!

Requested By: Anonymous.

Based On: If you have the time could you write something for being Thranduil’s queen and you getting hurt by one of his guards and Thranduil getting very angry and protective. By the way I absolutely adored the thorin helping you with your hair one you wrote.

A/N: Of course I’ll write this for you, lovely! I hope that you enjoy what I’ve come up with. Thank you! I’m glad that you enjoyed it. Thanks for your request and request as many imagines as you would like. c: - Kat

Word count: 944 ( I think I overdid it slightly )

Warning’s: Some blood, protective Thranduil, angry Thranduil, pretty much Thranduil being a douche to the member of the guard that hurt you. Some fluff at the end. (Let me know if I forgot anything)

Disclaimer: I do not own Thranduil or Mirkwood, Tolkien does.

Your head swung to left with a rashness that stunned the Elven King. The armored elbow that belonged to one of the members of the Woodland Realms’ Guard, collided and crunched viciously into your jaw bone. You were simultaneously flung across the platform, a loud cry coming from your mouth, echoing throughout the kingdom, halted everything and everyone within it’s path.

The guard grew tense as he turned to you, finally restraining the prisoner that had riled up a riot of his own. Even the prisoner looked fearfully up at the King of Mirkwood.

Like an arrow, King Thranduil shot up from his throne and onto his feet, his sapphire orbs agape, astonishment flooding through them. He had never dreamed of the day that a member of his own guard would ever possess such ungainly body movements! It was a complete disgrace and the king’s blood was surely boiling.

Soon the king’s bewilderment vanished, revealing an untamed rage towards the solider. Though, his eyes flickered over momentarily to you, not missing the blood trickle from your nose and mouth, the bruise beneath your slender long fingers as you cradled the damaged half of your face. Nobody moved a muscle and nobody dared to breathe.

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