It was a sunny summer day in Appleloosa as the twice-daily train, the “Apple Blossom Special,” pulled into town. Normally, this wasn’t a big occasion, but this time things were different. The train contained none other than Equestria’s most famous bluegrass group, Trigger and the Podunk Holler Ponies.
The group was fairly famous in the bigger cities, but was extremely popular in the southern and western parts of Equestria because, well, they loved it. The train’s arrival hadn’t gathered as big of a crowd as Trigger was expecting, but that didn’t bother him at all.
"Probably still workin’ in the apple orchards," he thought, "and if I heard right, these ponies held off a buffalo stampede with nothing but apple pies. They LOVE apples." The train finally lurched to a stop, alerting the ponies that they had arrived to their destination.
“Alright ya’ll, remember, these ponies invited us to play and offered us a generous amount of pay, so remember, be polite, and always add a ma’am or sir to what ya say,” Trigger said, “And Mason Jar, that means no drinking while we’re here.”
This made Trigger’s upright bass player declare, “Hey, ya know I quit that habit years ago!”
Trigger’s lead guitarist, Sammy Six-Strings, spoke up, “And by years ago, you mean never?”
This made Mason frown and mumble, “Ya’ll just ain’t fair.” Both he and Sammy then laughed at the joke Sammy had made while the others walked off the train with their baggage in tow.
Trigger took a quick look at the small cowpony town, trying to find the hotel. As soon as he found it, he told his group to go ahead and check in. “I’ll try to find out where we’re gonna be playin’,” he stated. His eyes darted back and forth from building to building when all of a sudden the face of a pony appeared inches in front of his own.
“Howdy there stranger! What brings you to this here fine town of AAAAAAA-pple-LOO-sa?!”
The sudden jump scare took Trigger off-guard, making him recoil backwards. The cowpony in front of him noticed this and remarked, “Gosh, I’m sorry about that stranger. I’ve tried to quit doin’ that, but it obviously ain’t worked.”
Trigger quickly recovered and said, “Aw, nah it’s fine, I needed something to wake me up from that train ride anyhow. Anyways, I’m, Trigger, from the Podunk Holler Ponies. I was just goin’ to find out where ya’ll wanted us to play.”
The already excited cowpony’s eyes widened at the mention of Trigger’s name. “Gosh, I don’t know how I didn’t recognize ya! Well, my name’s Braeburn, and I’m just the pony you’re lookin’ for! Sheriff Silver Star made me coordinator of the festival tonight. We’re gonna start the festival over there on the amphitheater stage right at six o’clock.”
Trigger looked over at the town amphitheater, noticing a group of ponies raising a banner reading, “Appleloosa Bluegrass Festival.”
“Sounds good, we’ll be there!” Trigger said as he extended a hoof to Braeburn, which Braeburn shook with joy. “Well, I’d better get going, need some rest before the show tonight. See ya then!” Trigger exclaimed as he tipped his hat and walked away.
Then, Trigger remembered one of his first thoughts he had about the town. “Hey, Braeburn! Before ya go, I got a question for ya,” Trigger asked, “did ya’ll really defend Appleloosa from a buffalo stampede with pies?”
Braeburn chuckled and replied, “I guess you can say we did.” With that, Trigger smiled and started walking towards the hotel.
Braeburn turned around to look back at Trigger, only to find him already close to the hotel. “Dag nabit, I needed to talk to him about-well, never mind, I’ll just talk to him after the show,” Braeburn said to himself, “It's probably better to wait till after the festival anyways.”
The bluegrass show was magnificent. The entire town of Appleloosa showed up and cheered Trigger and his group on. After the show, Trigger and the Podunk Holler ponies were in their hotel rooms, packing their things for the ride back to Rocky Top in the morning. Trigger was in the process of putting up his banjo when he heard a knock on the door.
“Come on in, it’s unlocked,” he yelled out. The door opened and Braeburn, wearing saddlebags, walked into the room.
“I just wanted to come by and thank ya’ll for coming tonight,” Braeburn stated after closing the door, “Ya’ll did such an amazing job out there, I thought your strings were gonna catch fire!” Trigger smiled at the expression and turned around to face Braeburn.
“It was a pleasure to come out to this here fine town of AAAAAAA-pple-LOO-sa!!” Trigger exclaimed while rearing up on his hind legs, clearly mocking Braeburn.
Braeburn chuckled at the almost perfect impersonation of him and said, “Keep it up and I might keep ya here to take my place while I take yours," causing both ponies to burst out into laughter.
Trigger exhaled deeply, and calmed down enough to mutter, “Naw, seriously, it was a pleasure to play for ya’ll, I ain’t ever seen an entire town come out to see us play. And I ain’t ever seen so many ponies get up and dance to the songs, either.”
Braeburn chuckled and said, “That’s Wild West Dancing for ya!” Trigger smiled and resumed packing.
Then, Braeburn's countenance changed, making him appear nervous. He looked at the floor and bit his lip. He then let his saddlebags fall onto the floor, making a large THUMP sound as it landed, indicating that it had something large and heavy inside. Still biting his lip, he looked up at Trigger, who had turned to see what the noise was.
Braeburn wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the courage to open his mouth. All the while, Trigger was looking at Braeburn with a questioning face.
Finally, Braeburn mustered up enough strength to speak. “I-I,” he stammered, “There’s, um, something serious I need to speak to you about.”
He bent over to pick up the contents of the saddlebag, a large book, and threw it onto Trigger’s bed. Trigger looked at the book, then back to Braeburn. “A picture album?” he inquired.
Braeburn bit his lip again and began to sweat profusely. “Yeah, it’s a photo album. B-b-but,” he squeaked, “There’s something in there you really need to know.
Trigger again looked at Braeburn with a questioning face and said, “Alright, I’ll take the bait, what’s in there that I need to know?” Braeburn sighed with relief as he walked over to the bed and looked at the photo album, entitled, “The Apple Family.”
“Where were you born and raised, Trigger?’ he questioned.
Trigger looked at Braeburn with yet another questioning face and answered, “In Rocky Top, like the song we played and sang tonight.”
Braeburn listened to the information, nodded, and asked another question, “And who were your parents?”
The question resonated within Trigger for a moment while he formed what he wanted to say in his mind. “My ma’s name’s Sweet Tea, and my pa’s name’s Corn Stalk, why?” he answered questionably.
Braeburn sighed and opened the photo album. He flipped to a page showing pictures of what appeared to be a young mare wearing a cowpony hat. “You don’t know who she is, do you?” Braeburn asked. Trigger looked at the mare and shook his head. Braeburn then pointed to a picture of the same mare, minus the hat, holding two newborn foals. “Any idea who they are?”
Trigger looked at the black and white picture and studied it for a moment. “Nope,” Trigger replied.
Braeburn sighed and looked Trigger in the eye. “Look at the words under the picture,” Braeburn muttered.
Trigger read the caption and turned pale under his coat of hair. “Big McIntosh an-and-,” he stuttered, “and T-Trigger.”
“You know what this means, right?” Braeburn asked carefully. Trigger replied with nothing but sweat beads forming on his brow. Braeburn moved his hoof down to a picture of the same mare and foals, but this time with the addition of a muscular stallion with a thick mustache.
Braeburn took a deep breath and exhaled it sharply. “That means,” he stuttered, “that means, this lovely couple’s your real parents, and Big McIntosh’s your twin.”
Trigger stood on the gravel path that led to the house he spent most of his life in. Because his group’s touring period was over for the year, he had time to relax, and talk to his “parents.”
He walked up to the door and knocked on the heavy oak door. As soon as he had done so, hoofsteps sounded in the hallway, heading towards the door. The door opened and revealed a light brown mare with a yellow mane and a cutie mark resembling a glass of what she was named after, Sweet Tea.
“Oooh, Trigger!!” she exclaimed as she hugged the brown banjo pony, “Ooh, we missed you sooooOOo much!!” Trigger chuckled and responded to her monstrous hug with a hug of his own.
“I missed ya’ll too!” he exclaimed with a smile, “Can I come in or am I sleeping on the porch like that one time?”
His “mother” chuckled and stepped aside, inviting him in with a sweep of her leg. “I reckon you can come in,” she giggled with excitement, “Corn Stalk, come down here, your son’s home!!” Trigger shuddered at the mare’s last statement, he didn't really know why.
The sound of heavy hoofsteps sounded from upstairs, slowly making their way down the stairs as a booming voice called out, “Trigger, is it really you or is Sweet Teat going blind?” Sweet Tea responded with a “Hmph” as Corn Stalk reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Ah, how’s my favorite son been?” he asked as he grabbed Trigger’s hoof and shook it.
Trigger gave a look of annoyance as he replied, “Pa, I’m yer only son.” Corn Stalk chuckled at Trigger’s annoyance.
They made their way into the home’s living room where Trigger’s “parents” asked him questions rapid fire, ranging from the simple, “How was it?” to the more complicated, “How much money did ya make?” Trigger answered each question with the hopes that his “parents” would either give up asking questions or simply run out of questions to ask.
Finally, Trigger saw an opening to ask a few questions of his own. “Ma, Pa, there’s something I need to ask ya’ll about.”
Mr. Stalk smiled and told Trigger to fire away. Trigger took in a deep breath and began his serious talk. “After our show in Appleloosa the other day, a pony named Braeburn came to my hotel room and showed me something,” he paused, cleared his throat, then began again, “He showed me a picture of a mare with her two newborns, and told me tha-that she’s my real mother, and that I had a twin brother named Big McIntosh. Is-is he right?”
His “parents” looked at each other, smiles wiped from their faces. Sweet Tea was the first to speak.
“Yes, your cousin Braeburn’s right. Your mother’s name was Orange Delight, and your real father’s name was Apple Buck.”
Trigger looked at his parents with a look of uncertainty.
“Was?” he asked quietly. His “parents” looked at each other again, this time Sweet Tea began sobbing heavily.
Corn Stalk finished what his wife started by saying, “Your dad died defending your younger sister Applejack from a group of timberwolves. Your mother was pregnant at the time with the youngest sister, Apple Bloom. She-she died in child-birth with her, I guess her heart couldn't take having a foal without her husband.”
Trigger always tried his best to hide his sadness and anger, but even years of hiding those emotions couldn't stop him from being very upset. He was choking up on the inside, trying his best to not shed a single tear, making his next question hard to get out of his throat. “If they died after I was born, then how did I end up gettin’ adopted by ya’ll?”
His father responded again, as Sweet Tea was still sobbing, “This part’s a bit hard to tell you, even for me,” he trailed off, “but I’ll go on with it, you need the truth. Apparently, it’s an Apple family “tradition” of sorts to have brightly colored foals, like Big McIntosh’s red coat, Braeburn’s yellow coat, and so on. But when you were born, they noticed, your, well, beautiful brown coat. They, well um, they didn’t, want it.
“They took you home in the hopes that your coat would eventually grow lighter somehow, but you can tell it didn’t. So, they kinda put you up for adoption.”
Sweet Tea had calmed down some by this time, but it was obvious she was still upset. Corn Stalk wiped a tear away with his hoof before he resumed the story.
“Well, me and your mother, erm, adopted-mother found out that we can’t have foals. We tried and tried to have foals, but she couldn’t get pregnant. So we turned to the only option we had, adoption. We saw an ad in the newspaper about the adoption center in Dodge Junction, but they didn't have any foals, and your mo-adopted-mother wanted a foal. So we searched and searched and were about to give up, when we heard about the Ponyville Adoption Center.
“They had only one foal, and that foal was you. We got there as fast as we could, and snatched you up and gave you the love you needed.”
Trigger was still sitting in his chair with a solemn look on his face. He quickly regained his composure and looked at his "parents", both of whom seemed happier than they were a minute ago. “So,” he began, “you said my real family lives in Ponyville?”
“Yes, Trigger, they’re in Ponyville right now. From what we know, they’re a very hard working family that runs their own farm.”
Trigger looked out the window into the now setting sun. “I wonder how they’d like it if I moved into Ponyville with them,” he asked himself.
