Where I grew up we had an apple orchard. Just five trees but they were large and old and 3 of the 5 were good for climbing. In spring the branches grew thick with white blossoms reflecting across seasons the snows they held in winter. Some years we got apples. After we collected all we wanted, the remaining apples, too blemished or now hosting worms, would fall and turn brown and soft on the ground. Yellow jackets and groundhogs scavenged what they could, but still there were dozens that needed to be cast into the adjacent field. I wore my dads heavy work gloves so I wouldn't get stung when picking up and throwing the the fruit. As the apples rotted they began to ferment and the yellow jackets seemed to fly drunk after feeding. Leaning over to pick up the fruit made me dizzy sometimes, and if I stood too quickly the yard would for a second seem to swim. I'd wait a few seconds and then bend back down, shuffling along throwing the apples sidearm across my body. One year I decided to kick them instead of picking them up. I'd start farthest from the field and work my way forward going back and forth in rows across the lawn. The apples would frequently burst as I kicked them and my shoes got sticky and smelled like cider.

Morning cartoons bleeding into noon
Pick up your toys and clean your room
Have a bowl a soup and then load the car
Nowhere to go but the center of a star

When I was 9 my father put a wooden pallet in the crook of my favorite tree. Using scrap wood from behind our shed I nailed walls to the sides of the platform. There were openings in the walls so I could see out into the yard while remaining safely hidden. I had a plastic yellow pail on a length of clothesline which I could raise and lower from inside the treehouse, transporting items back and forth. One day I filled the pail with about a half dozen apples. I climbed up and into the treehouse and took hold of the end of the rope. I pulled the the bucket up and into my fort. When I looked into the bucket the apples were gone, though the bucket's weight declared them still present. Looking inside and seeing nothing, I tilted and shook the bucket - and heard and felt the apples roll. Starting to panic I tipped the bucket upside down and scooted away from the half-present things. I cautiously approached and then lifted the pail. I looked inside the now feather weight bucket. I shook it but heard no noise and felt no motion. I heard my mother calling me in for lunch.

I didn't tell anyone what I had seen, but ate quickly and ran back out to the treehouse and climbed up inside. I repeated the sequence from the morning but nothing unusual recurred.

It was the strangest thing I'd ever seen, and as the years roll on I question if it ever happened at all.

Morning cartoons bleeding into noon
Pick up your toys and clean your room
Have a bowl a soup and then load the car
Nowhere to go but the center of a star