Death of the cider tree

Aye, the bloody wind killed my cider tree, Mandy's apple tree, the kids' swing tree. Splat. Luckily, it was just a couple of feet too small to make it through the kitchen window. But that's it done in. The weans were very upset to see it prostrate on the grass. Ellen suggested pushing it back up, which would be nice, if a little impractical.

Still, it can live on. If the trunk is solid in the middle, I'll take the chainsaw to it and it'll be a nice mantle in the sitting room. If you're the spoon carving type, apple wood is apparently very good for carving. Or we could have the root made into an attractive bowl. Or we could just chuck it on the fire come the winter. Better still, there's this kind of shite.

Using an apple wood wand would be the appropriate magical tool to use if you wanted to make shamanic journeys to the Otherworld.

Aye. Right.

Still, we have 160 bottles of cider to remember it by. Actually, 159 seeing as Mandy's quenching her sorrow with a bottle from barrel number 3. Next year I'll be scrounging apples off the neighbours.

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