Mama told me when I was young...
The heavy sounds of hooves falling was the only sound that could be heard through the sunlit orchards of Sweet Apple Acres. The serenely illuminated groves of apple trees did little to hide the noise, instead keeping their silence as a large red pony walked by, his emerald green eyes forward and a small frown upon his face. His large hooves seemed to drag against the hard dirt trail, kicking up small clouds of dust and a few pebbles along the way.
The soft green glows from the canopy to the ruby red color of the apples did little to distract him as he walked forward. The trees spread for miles in each direction around him, inviting him into their bosom. They were his friends, the silent providers for his family who only wanted a little bit of care in return. The worn bark on the trees bore more wrinkles than Granny Smith, a sign of their true age and wisdom that the red pony had listened to.
Still, they did not speak to him today. Though the sun was bright, the sky clear and blue and the air filled with the sweet scent of their fruits, even the trees knew to hold their tongue. Today was not an ordinary day. It wasn't one where the red pony, Big Macintosh as he was known, would come around and trim their boughs or gather the rotten apples at their feet. He was here for a more important reason than to make sure they were comfortable.
The small chatter of a squirrel cut the silence, causing Big Macintosh's ear to twitch, but not making him lose focus. As he walked on, the trees silently reprimanded the squirrel, who watched the pony with a curious look. They scolded the poor rodent for disturbing the pony, telling him this was not the time for that. The pony was here for a reason, one that every living thing should respect. Turning his attention away, the squirrel hopped up the branch of the tree and disappeared among the leaves.
Big Macintosh trudged along, regardless of how the trees whispered their apologies through the soft breeze. He head heard them many times before, but today he wanted nothing more than to block them out. He found it easy to do, despite his respect for the ancient beings around him. While he cared for them as his own family, he could easily ignore them, just like he could with his sisters and grandma.
The slow but purposeful walk Big Macintosh was on went on in silence from there on out. The only sounds he could hear were the trees offering their sympathies through the gentle breeze that fluttered among their branches. He appreciated their kind words, but refused to show any kind of emotion in return.
Slowly, the trees parted for him, allowing him entry into their most closely guarded secret. Big Macintosh walked by the guardians bravely, the largest and wisest trees in the orchards. Their imposing trunks were easily as big as he was long, making them near impossible to cut down. The leaves and fruits of them reaches well into the sky, as if they were yearning to fly. Above them, the sun sat near the center of the clearing they guarded, shining down as if all was well with the world.
Big Macintosh's eyes went from straight ahead to the tree nearest him, the largest of the lot. The apple tree from days long passed was gigantic, almost as big as some of those in the Everfree Forest itself. It easily stood taller than the barn back home and reached out to shelter its young with branches as wide as his legs. The tree remained silent as Big Mac gazed at it, a reminder of how stoic the orchard could be.
As Big Mac looked away, a soft rustling came from the tree's branches. Returning his gaze quickly, Big Mac watched the boughs as they swayed slowly in the breeze, the glorious red fruits rocking back and forth with them. The tree said nothing, but Big Macintosh knew what it wanted to express to him. The ancient one of the orchard had long since forgotten the ways of speaking, but it still conveyed emotions to him through its voice.
And the emotion it was conveying now was a mix of sympathy and sadness.
Big Mac's gaze dropped as the tree spoke, his emerald eyes stopping at the trunk of the mighty tree. Instead of being wrinkled like the rest of the orchard, the tree bore several large scars around it's feet. Small indents of pony hooves littered the base of the trunk, signs that this tree had seen many generations of the Apple family. Tentatively, Big Mac approached the trunk, his eyes becoming more watery as he did.
At the base, he sat down and stared at two sets of marks in the bark. They were pairs of hoofprints, one slightly larger than the other. Gritting his teeth, Big Mac reached up a hoof and touched the smaller set gently, tracing the curvature of the marks. The scar wasn't very deep. In fact, it didn't even penetrate the think bark the tree had. It was almost a miracle the ancient tree hadn't shed the scar yet, but Big Mac was thankful it hadn't.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Big Mac breathed slowly, his teeth clenched together as he stopped tracing the mark. Placing his hoof over one of them, Big Mac looked back up, a single tear starting to blaze a trail down his cheek. He kept his hoof there for a few seconds, becoming one with the ancient tree, before removing it and staring at the two sets again.
"Momma..." he mumbled under his breath.
Turning his gaze away from the smaller set of prints, he gazed at the larger one. The scar was deeper than the previous one, cutting through the bark to the beginnings of the core of the tree. Lifting his hoof, Big Macintosh placed his near them and noticed just how big they were. His hoof was about the same size as the scar, something that caused another tear to begin its journy down the other side of his face.
"Poppa..." he mumbled like he did earlier.
Closing his eyes, Big Mac ground his teeth together, trying to hold back the wave of emotions that hit him. In response to them, he lifted his other hoof and placed it near the smaller hoofprints before resting his forehead in between his hooves. The tree responded with a soft rustle, soon followed by the others around it.
Big Mac's eyes burned as he felt another couple tears leave them, ice cold against his cheeks. The tree offered its sympathy again, but Big Mac shut it out. He had come here every single year at this exact time, only to hear the trees apologize over and over for what happened. While he loved the orchards like family, they couldn't compare to the warm hooves of a hug from his parents.
But he hadn't felt that warmth in the years since they passed.
Being the oldest was a terrible burden he had to bear for his family. It wasn't because of him having to be the responsible one or the pressure to keep the Apple family line going, but it was because he remembered them the best. Applejack, his dear sister, only had vague memories of their parents while Apple Bloom had no memories of them at all. Big Macintosh was the one who had learned to speak, walk and buck apples from them, the only one who could vividly remember what they looked like and what their voices sounded like.
Granny Smith, his adoptive grandmother, knew a lot more about them than Big Macintosh did, but she refused to speak of them unless she had to. She knew the pain of remembering them when Apple Bloom wanted to hear the story of how they met again, or when Applejack found the chest in the attic containing items that had belonged to them and reflected on their passing. A lot of times after telling the stories, Granny Smith would go sit alone on the porch, watching the sun set over the orchards.
Still, as Big Mac sat at the base of the tree, he could hear his mother's and father's voices in his head. They were sounds he cherished, but they also stabbed at his heart, especially when he remembered his mother's final words to him. She had spoke them to him the day before they had disappeared into the orchards and were attacked by a roving group of timberwolves.
In his mind's eye, he could still see his mother perfectly as she smiled sweetly to him, her hoof brushing aside his messy orange mane. Her wonderfully fiery orange eyes still looked him over, content easily seen in them. Apple Bloom always loved to know she had the same eyes as her mother. Her apple green coat seemed to shimmer that night, along with her straw colored mane that Applejack had inherited. Her voice, though, was something he couldn't describe.
"Mac, sit with me, please," she pleaded in his mind, "There is something I want to tell you that may help you some day."
Big Mac grit his teeth harder as her words echoed around him in the forest, the trees silently watching on.
"I want you to do this for me, if you can, son. Please, don't live too fast. Take your time when you do anything. Enjoy every moment. Don't stress about anything, because troubles come and go so fast, you can waste your life trying to solve them."
The tears started to hurt as more came out from behind his closed eyes. He could see her soft smile again as he thought about her.
"When you are ready, go find yourself a mare you can trust, one who you can smile and laugh with. When you do, then you will know what love truly is. Forget about the pursuit of the golden bits that many ponies waste away trying to get their hooves on. If you have a mare who you love and a family who will do anything for you, then you will know what happiness really is."
Big Mac couldn't stop a small whimper from escaping his lips as he remembered what came next.
"All I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied."
Forcing his eyes to open, Big Mac looked at the blurry tree that rustled loudly in the wind. The tree itself was crying with him, and so were all those who surrounded him. Around him, a couple apples fell from the boughs and landed softly on the grass. One rolled over to him and touched his hind leg, causing Big Mac to look away from the tree.
At his side sat a green apple, just like his cutie mark, It was large and delicious looking, but there was a blemish on it's gleaming exterior. A noticeable scar ran the length of it, healed over at certain spots. The middle of the scar, though, was sliced open, allowing Big Mac to see straight to the seeds that lay within. A small trail of sweet smelling apple juice trickled down the side, right into his leg.
As Big Macintosh stared at the apple, tears still streaming from his face, a familiar voice broke the silence.
"So, ya know of this place too, huh?"
Lifting his attention away from the apple, Big Mac saw the last pony he would expect to be here. She smiled a toothy grin at him and trotted over to the tree, staring at the many scars on the base with a small smile.
"You know what this is, Big Mac?" Granny Smith asked.
Big Mac turned and looked up the tree, his hooves still over both of his parent's hoofprints.
"Eeyup," he replied.
Granny Smith approached and sat next to her grandson, following his gaze up into the tree. The two ponies sat in silence for a while, just listening to the wind blow through the trees.
"Ah'm sorry about them, Big Mac," Granny spoke quietly.
Big Mac's gaze left the tree as he turned to the older green mare, sadness written all over her face.
"Ya know, Ah shoulda said sumthin' to them before they left that day," she began slowly, "They knew the timberwolves were gettin' into the orchards and asked me ta protect ya three should sumthin' happen to them. Ah think they knew they might not come back, but ah shoulda done it. Ah shoulda gone out there with yer grandpappy tah stop the wolves insteada them."
Granny Smith sighed deeply after that, her eyes starting to water as she remembered.
"Ah shoulda been there. Ah shoulda been the one the wolves attacked, not my son and daughter-in-law."
Big Mac let his hooves fall as tears started to run down Granny Smith's cheeks. He was no longer crying, but he kept his silence as Granny Smith sat there and contemplated. Her eyes shut as she shuddered a bit.
"Ah'm sorry, Big Mac," she said with a small sniffle, "Ah'm sorry fer being the worst parent and grandparent there is."
Feeling a small pit form in his stomach, Big Mac reached over and wrapped his foreleg around his grandmother. She stayed still for a few seconds, but let herself get pulled into Big Mac's hug. She started to sniffle loudly and more tears streamed from her eyes.
"Ah coulda stopped them. Ah coulda and ah didn't."
Big Mac felt his tears start to return as he hugged his grandma closer, staring at the hoofprints of his parents. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Granny Smith continued to weep at his side, her body shaking with each sob.
Big Mac closed his eyes, remembering the last part of what his mother had told him before she left that fateful day.
"Just be a simple kind of pony. Be something you and everypony can understand and accept. Do this for me if you can, my Big Macintosh."
Opening his eyes again, he reached his other hoof around Granny Smith and hugged her a little tighter, glad she was here. The older mare turned her gaze to him, her makeup smeared in some places and tears still streaming from her face. Big Mac turned his head slowly to her and forced out a small smile.
"Ah still love you, Granny," he mumbled to her.
The older mare's eyes gleamed a bit at that, her sadness wiped away for a moment. For a moment to her, Granny Smith saw not just her grandson, but her departed son as well. They both smiled at her with the same smile, the same messy mane and the same emerald green eyes.
Smiling to herself, Granny Smith hugged Big Mac back, glad she had a grandson like him. Her orange eyes, however, returned to the imprints in the tree, her son's and his wife's still as visible as the day they made them.
After paying their respects, Granny Smith started to walk down the dirt path back to the farm, glancing back at her red grandson. He was still sitting there, staring at the prints with bloodshot eyes, but he wasn't crying. Instead, he smiled at the tree and places his hoof near his mother's print again.
"Momma, ah think ah finally understand it," he mumbled to the tree, "Ah understand what ya meant back then and ah will do it. Ah can be a simple pony, just like ya wanted me to."
The wind picked up again, causing Granny Smith to look up at the trees her family had planted back when they first came here. To Big Mac, however, he merely smiled at the tree, knowing his mother and father were happy, wherever they were.
Author's Note
Story was directly inspired by Lynard Skynard's Simple Man, a song that I heard on the radio after my grandfather's funeral.
