She's done it hundreds of times. Thousands. Whatever comes after thousands.
Settle yer hooves in against the dirt. Feel that?
She could, in fact. Just like that first day, just like every day after. She could feel it, pulsing beneath her, a steady thrum of life. Not every pony could, however. Some ponies couldn't feel the beating of the earth's heart through their hooves, that lifeline, connecting their heart to the lifegiving pulse of nature.
Breathe in, slowly. Try an' match that rhythm ya feel, get in touch with it.
Before, it was difficult. Severely difficult. When she was a little filly, it was hard getting in tune. Now, she could do it without thinking. She never did, however. This was special. This was important. This was worth the thought.
That rhythm, that pulse... that is our gift. The land's gift to us, those born without wings or horn. It's a subtle thing, innit?
It certainly was. There was no outward sign of the blonde mare's tapping into that power the land gave her, save for perhaps the steadiness of her breath and the calmness of her visage, but it was just as real, just as potent as the pegasi's ability to manipulate the air, the unicorns' ability to manipulate... whatever they called it. Either, or something along those lines. The farmer dug in deep with her forehooves, bracing herself as her hinds began to rise.
But it's strong. Real strong. An' it's what makes us strong. An earth pony without a connection to the earth would be jes' as weak as any unicorn, jes' as hopeless with plants as any pegasus. Never forget, y'hear? That connection is our life.
Her hooves would come up, before kicking out, transferring that power coursing through the dirt up through her frogs, along her legs and barrel, down her hind legs, and into her hooves, all in a fraction of a second. There was a thunk of shoe on wood, and several smaller impacts, apples dropping from the precise reverberation her buck caused, landing in the baskets set around the trunk of the tree. Years ago, she'd not been able to strip a tree of its bounty in one kick. Years ago, she'd been a littler thing, but it wasn't her size, nor her strength, that allowed her to buck trees like this. She was but a conduit for something larger than herself. Some ponies forgot that.
Easy there, little one. Don't want to force it. You'll end up hurtin' yerself, or the tree. Remember, 'tain't you doin' the work. Yer gettin' a conversation goin' 'tween the earth and the tree. An' the earth is very persuasive.
She'd move to the next tree in the line, surrounded by baskets, like every tree was during Applebuck season. In prior years, this had been a daunting task, even with the assistance of her brother. After all, even if she wasn't the one willing the trees to give up their apples, it still took a lot of work gettin' that conversation started. The earth was a giving sort, but not without effort.
Brace, dig deep, match yer breathin', an' channel strength from hoof to hoof.
Thunk. Another impact, another rain of apples, another content sigh. Off in the distance, as she lowered her hooves, and prepared to move to the next tree down the line, she could see friends and family. She could hear singing: Pinkie Pie's work, no doubt. She smiled, reaching up and adjusting the stetson she wore, brushing sweat from her brow and closing her eyes. Even with all the additional help, there was still much to be done.
Nature will do the rest. She looks out fer her chosen few, after all. All they need ta do is know how ta ask.
The day slowly wore on, Celestia's sun slipping from its place high in the heavens, towards the horizon, and the steady beat of hoof on trunk, of apples piling together, formed a sweet symphony, with lyrics provided by an energetic pink mare. As she drew in closer to the barn, she heard laughter, and she looked over, adjusting the hat she wore once again. A cluster of ponies, all four tribes represented, their bodies unable to take the strain of a full day's work, were relaxing and enjoying each other's company. She noted with amusement that they seemed to have wrangled her brother free of his work; she'd tease him about that later, though with all the extra help, she reckoned he could afford to take it easy now and again.
There's a harmony between us and the land, much like that between ponies. And jes' like any good friend, the land will provide when a pony needs it, if'n they ask.
She'd peer over at the sun, which had got it in its head that it might like to set soon. She could probably get in another hour's worth of work before it would be too dark to see without a light.
"Hey! Applejack!"
Or perhaps not. She chuckled softly, realizing that she'd been caught, much like her siblings had been. There would be plenty of work to be done tomorrow, but the remaining daylight would be spent away from the trees. And for the life of her, she couldn't come up with a reason that was a bad thing.
Jes' remember, Applejack. Even when yer away from the trees, away from the fields... yer always in touch with the earth.
She'd wave in the direction of the small party Pinkie had somehow managed to turn her work crew into, trotting over and letting the earth rejuvenate her. She wasn't about to collapse in front of her friends, and while it would take rest and a long bath to deal with the aches and pains of the day, she could at least muster up the energy to enjoy the rest of the day. After all, there was one other lesson she'd learned, all those years ago, and as her friends wrapped her up in a group hug, almost knocking the hat from her head, she mulled over that teaching, passed on to her as a younger filly by the former owner of that hat.
This is why we work. Not for the money, not to feed ourselves... we work hard so that when it comes time to relax, to be with friends, we can know the job is done, and done well. So we don't have that worry in the back of our mind while we're tryin' ta enjoy good company.
Good company indeed. The best a mare could ask for.
Author's Note
Just something that came to mind. I am aware this story doesn't go anywhere, but to be honest? I am perfectly okay with that. One hour, start to finish. Not bad for a writing exercise spawned from a random thought of ''Let's write Appulz'.
