MorningView OnlineApple Honey's Perfectly Ordinary DayMorningApple Honey's Perfectly Ordinary Day Chapter 1: Morning Admiral Biscuit The crowing of her neighbor's rooster and the squawking reply of her own hens woke her. Apple Honey blinked her eyes open and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before kicking the covers off with her hind legs. She rolled to her side and slid off the bed rump-first, stretched, and flicked her tail a couple of times to work some of the bed tangles out. She yawned as she walked to the kitchen and fed the wood stove, filled the kettle, and set it dead-center. It would boil while she did her morning chores, and then she'd have some tea and breakfast. Her kitchen routine accomplished, Apple Honey headed downstairs. She avoided the third riser out of habit—it squeaked annoyingly whenever anypony stepped on it, and she just hadn't gotten around to fixing it yet. Too many other projects. The henhouse was the first stop. She owned three chickens—enough to provide her with two eggs for breakfast, and one for trade. The biggest egg would be set aside: it would go to Sugarcube Corner. Each week, they added up to a free brownie from the bakery. When the eggs were safely in their basket, she opened the door and let the hens out for the day. They scurried off through the makeshift door into the small yard. Bobby, her biggest hen, made a short flight to perch on the ruins of a wagon which occupied one corner of the yard. Apple Honey had gotten the wagon a couple of years ago for a song—specifically, it had cost her a dozen eggs and a gently-used side-backer harness. The wagon had had a broken axle: it could be pulled along empty if a mare was careful, but it couldn't support any load. She'd had every intention of getting it fixed, but then Cherry Berry had needed a singletree in a hurry, and the one off the wagon was good enough to sell. Besides, she had an extra that wasn't quite as good that she could put on the wagon, once the axle was fixed. Now that she'd sold the wheels, tailboard, and most of the ironwork, there was little point in fixing it any more. It lay upside-down, where she and Golden Harvest had rolled it over to strip the friction brakes off. One of these days, she was going to just pull apart the body for the lumber, but for now it was fine where it sat. Apple Honey crossed the chicken run and opened the gate to her kaleyard. Tom, her scarred guard-cat, was waiting there for her, and she leaned over and nuzzled his head affectionately. She'd gotten him from Fluttershy years ago, to help discourage rabbits and other pests from her garden, and he'd done wonders. She'd made a garden home for him by putting a sugar barrel lined with seed bags on a pile of bricks. It wasn't much, but he was happy there. Every weekend, she pampered him with fresh fish from the market and cream from the dairy, and if he felt like letting her, she groomed his coat. The rest of the week, he worked as hard as she did. While she weeded, Tom patrolled the perimeter. It was an odd habit of his; he'd meet her at the gate, and then walk around the border of the garden, until he got back to the gate. Then, he'd head off to his barrel-home, and take a short catnap. Oddly, he’d never cross the old stile into her orchard—it wasn’t a barrier to a cat, but he clearly felt that it wasn’t his duty to patrol there. At the end of a row, she paused with one hoof on the worn step and regarded her tiny grove of apple trees and the old patent beehive in the center. Seeing nothing back there which required immediate attention, she turned back to her garden. While the apple trees were rather tolerant of weeds, her garden was not. When she’d finished in her garden, she closed the gate, picked up her trio of eggs from the henhouse, and went back to her apartment to make herself breakfast. Every workday morning, she made herself the same breakfast: a bowl of oatmeal, flavored with honey, two slices of buttered toast with a little bit of honey drizzled on, a cup of black tea sweetened with honey, and two fried eggs. She liked some consistency in her morning routine, because once she started work, Celestia only knew how her day was going to go. When the breakfast dishes were washed and put away, she headed to work. Instead of turning right at the bottom of the stairs, she turned left. Like most business ponies, she lived above her store. Apple Honey opened the shutters on her office windows, and then went outside to yank the sliding door to her workshop halfway open. It was already shaping up to be a nice day, and there was no reason to be all cooped up while she worked. Her first stop was her treadle-powered grindstone. She had a dozen cultivator tines to sharpen for Big Mac. That would take her the better part of an hour, if nopony stopped by. She was halfway done with the fifth when she heard the bell over her front door jingle. Polite ponies—her regular clientele—went into her office and waited, knowing that she'd be up front as soon as she could. Others just wandered into the shop and interrupted whatever she was doing. Apple Honey finished the side of the tine she was working on before setting it on the workbench and trotting up front to see who was there. It was Goldengrape, and he was wearing a harness that hung slightly askew on his back. His ears perked as she came into the office, and she smiled brightly at him. “I broke a belly strap.” He turned his nose to indicate the offending part. “Backing into my shed to hook up my wagon. Got it caught on the doorframe, didn't know, and. . . .” She was the town's expert at temporarily repairing harnesses, so she leaned under his belly to get a closer look. The harness wasn't in great shape, and probably ought to have been replaced. It never should have broken from just backing into a table. “I can take your measurements and get a new hip strap assembly,” she told him. “This one's pretty well done for.” His face fell. “How long will that take?” She shrugged. “Custom? A week, maybe more. It'd be longer if it was planting or harvesting time; nopony ever replaces anything before it breaks.” “I can't afford to miss market for a week.” He sighed. “And I don't have any more harnesses at home. Who keeps a second one? Nopony. Can't you just have one sent on the afternoon train?” “I suppose I could order one from a mail-order house in Manehattan. It’d probably be in on a train tomorrow, if you wanted to pay extra for a telegram. Overall, it’d be cheaper than custom.” She held up a hoof before he could speak. “It’d take a bit of adjustment, though, to make it fit, and they usually aren’t as durable as a proper, hoofmade harness.” She looked at the broken strap again. “I've got some spare straps in the back room. I ought to be able to piece one together that will fit.” Apple Honey left him standing in the front office, pawing at his broken harness, and went into her storeroom to see what she could find. She always kept good bits and pieces she came across, because one never knew when they might come in handy, but finding them was a bit of a chore. Three boxes later, she found what she was looking for. She pulled the most likely candidate out of a crate, and went back to the office. Goldengrape fidgeted as she crouched under his barrel, threading the repair strap into his harness. Colts were such babies when a mare was under their belly. “Quit fidgeting,” she ordered. “If I set up the quarter strap wrong, you could drag it across your sheath when you turn.” She slid out from under him and threaded the strap through the buckle, holding it in position while she punched a new hole with an awl. She finished the job by latching it and trimming the free end off with a pair of scissors. “How does it feel?” He wiggled around. “Good enough,” he said. “How much do I owe you?” “Half bit.” “That’s all?” Apple Honey nodded. “’Cause it’s a used strap. But I'm serious—you ought to look into getting your whole hip strap assembly replaced. I can get a price for you, if you want to stop by after market. You don't fix that, one day you're going to try and stop your wagon, and your breeching strap's gonna just tear right off.” “I know, I know. Um, I don't have any bits on me. Can you stop by my stall later today?” • • • She leaned back over the grinding wheel and put the finishing touches on the penultimate tine. Three more ponies had come in; she'd sold a leftover sack of rye seed to Caramel, made an appointment to go over White Clover’s rotary hay rake, and gossiped about Strike's new cutie mark with Allie. Rather than rush right back to her work, she picked up a stubby pencil and wrote down a brief summary of her conversation with Allie. Everypony liked hearing about fillies and colts finding their cutie marks, and even if there wasn't a cute-ceañera planned, Strike'd enjoy seeing himself mentioned in the newspaper. His parents might clip out the article and keep it posted in a scrapbook. Those were the kinds of stories she liked writing the best. Some of the newspapers that the library got were always full of depressing news from faraway places, but they never thought to cover all the good things that happened every day. Apple Honey stuck the scrap of paper under her typewriter, looked back into her cluttered workshop, and momentarily considered the advantages of cleaning at least one workbench before she finished the tines, but then she caught a flash of gray out of the corner of her eye. One of her best sources was approaching. She slid a hardly-used piece of paper across her desk and squared herself in her worn chair. A moment later, the door chimed cheerfully, and the mailmare came through. As always, duty was first, and she set a mouthful of mail on Apple Honey's counter, picked up the much smaller pile of outgoing mail—a few monthly invoices, and a couple orders from smithies in Fillydelphia—and tucked them neatly in her saddlebag. “How's Dinky?” The mailmare's eyes glowed with pride. “She helped cook dinner last night. Sparkler's teaching her how to use her telekinesis, and she set the table with it.” “Pretty soon, you're not going to have to do anything at home at all.” “I know.” A blush formed on her cheeks. “Sometimes I feel like I don't do enough already.” “You have two wonderful fillies. They're following in your hoofsteps, and you’ve got big shoes to fill.” Apple Honey grabbed the mail off her counter and set it on her desk. “Heard anything new around town?” • • • Ten minutes and three new story leads later, Comet Tail broke up their gossip session when he came in with a partially-disassembled gearbox. He set it on the counter, and then floated the rest of the parts one-by-one out of his saddlebag. Apple Honey gave an absentminded wave as the mailmare headed out the door, then focused her attention on the gearbox. “What happened?” “Shaft bearing wore out.” Comet Tail pointed to a slightly blued race on the main shaft. “Probably should have stopped using it right away, but Cherry wanted to finish windrowing her back field.” Apple Honey looked dubiously at the pile of parts on her counter. “Is that everything?” “Mostly. We lost a couple of bolts by the shed, and of course the bearings are gone. Rolled away somewhere. But you won't have any trouble putting it back together.” Apple Honey sighed, and moved a few of the bigger gears around with her hoof, suppressing an urge to tell Comet Tail just what she thought about ponies who took things apart when they didn’t know what they were doing. “Gonna have to heat that race,” she said, mostly to herself. “Shaft might be damaged. Probably have to order a new bearing out of Manehattan, unless I've got one on my parts shelf. When do you need it back?” He shrugged. “First cut's done. Sun Streak wanted to borrow it, but she can always use Candy Twirl’s if she gets in a bind.” “No less than a week. More if it's an odd bearing, and you'll have to pay freight if it is.” “Okay.” He tilted his head towards the collection of parts. “Just come by market when it's done, or when you know what it's going to take.” She kept up her smile until he'd left her office, then let her shoulders slump. Neither he nor Cherry Berry were smart enough to stop before they got in over their heads; they usually tried to fix things themselves first, and then brought them to her only after they were stumped, or had managed to break something that shouldn't be broken. She always told herself that she should charge them extra . . . she was going to have to reassemble the gearset based solely on experience, and it would probably take her two or three tries before she got it right. There was also the matter of figuring out which screws were missing, and what size they were supposed to be. Still, both Cherry and Comet were friendly, and paid their bills promptly, which was more than she could say for some ponies. Deep down, she already knew she was going to charge them less than the job was worth. Apple Honey slid the parts into a small box and carried it out into her workshop next to her small forge, where it joined a collection of projects. She usually only fired her forge once a week, and tried to knock out all the forge-work on a single day. The smithy kept theirs going every day, but she simply didn't get enough of that kind of work to justify the expense. That chore done, she scooted her chair over to her typewriter and picked up where she'd left off the night before—a short blurb about a new threshing machine that was said to cut the need for farmhooves in half. While she was hardly in favor of taking jobs away from ponies, she knew that some of the farms had trouble finding enough help in the fall, and maybe a bunch of farmers could get together and rent a machine like that for a week during the harvest season. A jingle at her door drew her attention, and she perked her ears as a light mulberry mare poked her head through her door. “Delivery!” she cheerfully announced. “Already?” Apple Honey hopped off her chair. “I didn't hear the morning train come in.” “Too busy napping?” “I wish.” She walked around the counter. “You got a wagon?” “Yup. Out front. Snuzzle's pulling it.” “Really?” “She owed me.” Blossom pushed the door open. “Usual place?” “Yeah.” Apple Honey turned back to her typewriter. Normally, she liked gossiping with Blossom, but she just wasn't in the mood—her mind was set on finishing the article, even if the words weren't coming as easily as she'd have liked. Just the same, she was nearly done when Blossom returned to the office, a bunch of invoices held in her mouth. “Gonna use the sandbox,” she muttered after she'd set them on the counter. “You got anything good in there?” “New Steers and Roebuck catalog,” Apple Honey offered. “Came in yesterday.” “Ooh. I haven’t seen that one yet.” Apple Honey nodded absently and pulled the documents towards herself. She skimmed through them, picturing her stock quantity in her mind, and making sure that she'd gotten the right amount of everything. She wasn't very good at bookkeeping—Nat Tally came in once a week and handled that—but she always had a good idea what she had on hoof back in the shop. Blossom came through twice a moon to take an order, and then a few days later, she came by train to fill it. On the back of the invoices was a total, which saved Apple Honey the trouble of adding it all up. She scrounged around on her desk until she'd found her checkbook and a fairly fresh quill, then wrote out a check by mouth. She set it on the desk, dropped a leftover bearing race on top so it wouldn't blow away, and headed for the shop, figuring that she might as well greet Snuzzle. • • • Her gossip session got cut short when Golden Harvest came in, curious if any new implement catalogs had come with the mail. They had not, but the two mares had a long discussion about the advantages of a two-pony cultivator for the carrot farm. When Goldie finally left, Apple Honey was fairly sure that she'd ultimately get a sale. There weren't any used ones to be had in town, and it was obvious to anypony that the current arrangement was at its limit. Goldie’s family had more land they could work, but they didn't have the equipment to handle it. Apple Honey plunked back into her office chair for a moment, imagining how it would feel to actually sell a major piece of equipment which was brand new. She'd have to make sure she was down at the train station to receive it—along with Golden Harvest, of course. They'd want to go over it carefully and make sure that everything was in good working order before they accepted it from the freight agent. Then they’d have to haul it to the shop for final assembly and testing, which was sure to gather a small crowd of curious mares, and maybe bring a little more business to her shop and to Golden Harvest’s farm. Her ears perked as the town clock chimed. She still hadn't unpacked her new inventory. That was always a highlight of her day—it was like a mini-Hearth's Warming. She went into the shop and picked a short crowbar out of her tool crib, eagerly trotting over to the boxes set neatly along her workbench. With practiced ease, she jammed the end into the lid, and twisted her head to pry it free. The first box was boring. The top layer consisted of nothing more than interlaced hardwood handles for rakes, hoes, and shovels. They were a perennial best-seller—the metal bits of such tools generally outlasted a few handles—but they were boring. Nevertheless, she dutifully carried them over to the appropriate bins, refilling the stock she'd sold over the past two weeks. Below that were several skeins of binder twine, along with some more substantial manila rope. Again, profitable but boring. The bottom layer wasn't exactly paydirt, either. Small boxes of nuts and bolts, each neatly stamped with the size and pitch. Still, farms ran on bolts, and farmhooves were always losing them. There had been talk of standardizing sizes, but thus far it hadn't happened—everypony who made farm equipment felt that their particular style was the best, and as a result she had dozens of different bins, when half that number should have been sufficient. If it hadn't been for the hardware store, she'd have had to stock more. The ones she kept on hoof were the ones that fit the majority of equipment she repaired, but it was hardly complete coverage. Her quick glance at the gearbox Cherry Berry and Comet Tail had broken had confirmed that she probably didn't have the right bolts, unless she had some used ones in one of her screw jars, and as she was filling the racks, she debated whether she ought to order them from Blossom, or continue going to the hardware store and paying a premium. It wouldn’t save her any money on this job, but in the future she might need more, especially if Cherry Berry and Comet Tail kept breaking their hay rake. She set the empty little boxes off to the side. They were handy for keeping track of small parts, and sometimes foals came in and wanted them to carry a bug or frog they'd found home. She preferred the small burlap bags she used to get—they were more durable—but progress was progress. The second crate proved to be much more interesting. Blossom re-packed her order into whatever she had lying around, so she never knew what she was going to find in any given box. This one had originally contained Prench wine, but now it was chock full of hinges and gate hardware. She had to struggle to slide it across the shop—how Blossom had gotten it out of the wagon without splitting open the crate was beyond her. She spent a happy ten minutes examining each latch, hinge, drop rod, hook, and handle, before piling them neatly in her cabinet. Good fences made for good neighbors, everypony knew that. If she had some vacant column space in the next issue of the paper, she'd mention her supply, although it probably wasn't really needed. Like the handles, fencing practically sold itself. The third crate was the mother lode. On one side were sacks of seed, which was exciting enough. She'd been reading through the seed catalogues and could easily discuss the advantages of each different variety she now held in her hoof. Over half the order was already called for, and she'd have no trouble selling the rest. On the other side, a fresh new patent beehive filled the rest of the crate. She lifted it up onto the bench and raised the lid, marveling at the tightly-fitted honey boxes. This was supposed to be a huge improvement over the traditional skeps that dotted the fields and meadows of Ponyville. It had taken her a solid month of wheedling and cajoling before she'd managed to get Bumblesweet to accede to trying one—and she'd had to agree to sell it practically at cost and take it back for a full refund if Bumblesweet wasn't satisfied—but she was sure that they would be popular once ponies got used to them, and much easier on the bees as well. Fluttershy herself had endorsed it, and that counted for a lot. Apple Honey was expecting to see Bumblesweet at the Prancing Pony, and while it might take a day or two before she came to the store to claim her new hive, it wouldn't do to have it back in the shop where it might get dusty before that. She flicked her ear as the town clock announced noon—there was still one more tine to finish. She'd expected to get them done before she went to lunch, but time had gotten away from her, as it often did. Do I finish it now and cut my lunch short, or should I wait until after lunch to finish? It only took a moment to decide. She couldn't let the Apples down—they were her kin, after all. Better to have them done now. She set her hooves back on the treadle and got the grinding wheel back up to speed, narrowing her eyes against the shower of sparks as she slid the tooth forward on the tool rest. • • • Five minutes later, it was done. She sighted down the edge, making sure it had a good finish, before wiping it down with an oily rag so it wouldn't rust. She dropped it in the burlap bag with its sisters, looped a simple plowpony's knot in the top, then went over to her sink to rinse off her hooves. Apple Honey stepped into her saddlebags, leaning against the wall to hold them in place while she bent under her belly to pull the strap tight. She wiggled her barrel to center them and then headed out into the street, pulling the sliding workshop door shut behind her. A moment later, she turned back around, opened the door a crack, and went to her workbench, where the bag of plow teeth was still sitting. She took a quick second glance around the shop, to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything else, before she headed back out into the street. She headed straight for the market. As was so often the case, she was going to have a working lunch. Her first stop was the Apples' farmstand, where she delivered the plow teeth to Big Mac. He slid them under the counter and hoofed over a pair of apples and a bit coin. She’d just turned to go to Goldengrape’s stall when she caught Blue Clover out of the corner of her eye. She was sweet on him, although he’d given her no sign back—not yet, anyway. She trotted over to him, the paltry amount Goldengrape owed her completely forgotten. “Hey.” “Hi, Apple Honey. Nice to see you out.” “You, too.” He took a step across the market green, while Apple Honey’s mind churned, trying to come up with some way to keep the conversation going, then she hit on it. It took a couple of steps to catch up to him, and she waited until she was alongside to begin talking. “Your sister—she made an appointment to look at her hay rake this week.” “Yeah.” “I was kinda in a hurry when she stopped in. Is it broken?” “No.” He slowed his step just a bit. “Needs servicing, is all. We don’t like to let things break.” “I wish everypony thought that way.” She perked her ears up. “Maybe . . . you might want to wait until haying is done. I’ve got the gearbox to Cherry Berry’s in my shop right now, in pieces. Sun Streak hasn’t got her field cut yet. She was gonna use Cherry’s rake. You could rent yours out to her and make a few bits.” “Not a bad idea,” he said thoughtfully. “Thanks!” Without any warning, he leaned in and brushed his nose against her cheek, leaving her standing dumbstruck in the center of market. Author's Note Special thanks to Topaz Moon and theRedBrony for story ideas and plot points. They also pre-read and edited, along with AShadowOfCygnus, metallusionismagic, and MSPiper. To reduce the length of the blog post, I've split it into two parts. The first part, the dramaturge (or cast of characters, for you non-theatre people) is HERE. The rest will be along later.
AfternoonView OnlineApple Honey's Perfectly Ordinary DayAfternoonApple Honey’s Perfectly Ordinary Day Chapter 2: Afternoon Admiral Biscuit She hadn't yet made it over to Goldengrape's stand when the town clock began chiming again. Apple Honey shifted on her hooves before making up her mind. I can always collect from him later. As it is, I'm already going to be late getting back to the shop. It's not that big a deal, she reminded herself as she hastily selected a bunch of carrots from Golden Harvest's stand. True Blue should be there by now. Just the same, she only made a token attempt at haggling before buying her carrots and stuffing them in her saddlebags. She didn't actually trot back to her shop, but she was close to it. As she rounded the corner, she saw True Blue, her filly apprentice, struggling with the sliding door, while Night Soil stood patiently in the street, a filthy wagon hitched behind him. She slowed down her pace. It would be good to see how her apprentice handled this. Apple Honey watched as the door was finally opened far enough, and Night Soil backed the wagon into the shop with a little bit of guidance. “Afternoon, Night Soil.” He turned his head at the sound of her voice. “Oh, hi, Apple Honey. Are you busy this afternoon? 'Cause I ripped the drop chains off my muck wagon.” He tilted his head. “They're in the back.” “Yeah, I can get to it.” She moved alongside Night Soil and took a look at the wagon. “How good a fix do you want? The front bolster's pretty rotten.” “Enough to get by.” “Okay.” Apple Honey stood back as her apprentice unhooked the traces from Night Soil's harness. “I can have it done today.” “Really? That'd be great!” “Yeah, really.” Apple Honey wrinkled her muzzle. “Can you pick it up at the end of the day?” “Uh . . . probably?” The last thing she wanted was to have this wagon stinking up her shop one moment longer than necessary. “I can deliver it, if that would be easier.” “Yeah, that would.” Night Soil nodded eagerly. “Hazel is out with the new wagon, cleaning up at the town hall.” He snorted. “Politicians, right? We’ll probably be there late.” He sighed. “I was hoping this would hold together a little longer . . . it's kinda a busy season for me, you know?” “It's always a busy season for you.” “Yeah.” He chuckled. “Well, I'd better get back. Don't want to let Hazel have all the fun. I think she's fetlock deep in Wooly's campaign promises.” Apple Honey kept the smile on her face until Night Soil was down the street, then she held a hoof over her nose and squinted one eye shut before leaning in and closely examining the front bolster of the wagon. Suddenly, she was glad she hadn't had a chance to eat her lunch yet. When she looked up, she saw Blue uncoiling a hose. Apple Honey quickly held up a hoof to stop her. “Woah! Don’t rinse the wagon out.” “But . . . it stinks. And it’s full of—of stuff.” “I know. Think for a minute, though, what happens if you rinse it off? You’re going to make a mess in the street, or in the shop. And it’s going to be dripping down on us and the floor the whole time we’re working on it. Better to leave it the way it is and just deal with the smell.” “Oh.” Her ears fell back. “Can’t you fix it tomorrow morning?” Apple Honey swept her foreleg around the room. “If this is the kind of thing you want to do for a living, you’re going to have to deal with that more often than you’d like.” She pointed to the muck wagon. “Push it the rest of the way into the shop, then open the back door. Maybe if we get a breeze, it will help. Then pull the drop chains out of the back, so I can see what we're working with.” “Ew.” True Blue stood on her hind legs and peered inside the wagon. “Do I have to?” “The sooner we get it done, the sooner it'll be out of here,” Apple Honey called over her shoulder as she headed up to the office. “If you've got all that done by the time I drop my saddlebags, get out a brace and bit.” Without even waiting for a reply, she pulled open the half-door to her office and walked behind the counter, pausing just long enough to loosen the belly strap on her saddlebags before she made it to her desk. She pulled them off and draped them over the back of a castoff kitchen chair she kept up front, being careful to not bruise the fruit and vegetables they contained. Apple Honey came back out of her office sans saddlebags in time to see True Blue standing atop an old flour barrel, fishing for the chains with a broken rake handle held in her mouth. She had her pasterns hooked over the wagon's sideboard for balance and was sighting cross-eyed down the stick. “Just mare up and climb inside,” Apple Honey suggested. “It'll be quicker.” “Do I haf oo?” “The chains are still gonna have shit on them when they come out, you know. You aren't going to be able to pound open the ringbolts without getting some on you. It’ll wash off.” “Can't oo ufe the old bolfs? Fread ‘em in new holfs?” “Bolster's too rotten. They won't stay.” Apple Honey rummaged through her toolbox until she found her smallest spade bit. “Gonna drill through-holes.” “Got it!” True Blue leaned back, causing the chain to slide down the stick. She instinctively stepped back, which tilted the barrel and sent it skidding out from under her hooves. Before she could react, the chain smacked her in the muzzle. “Ew, ew, ew!” Stifling a laugh, Apple Honey took pity on her apprentice, upending the barrel and sliding it back under Blue's scrambling hooves. For a moment, she was tempted to stick her head under the filly's rump and pitch her into the wagon, but she decided against it. Even though her father had told her it built character when he’d done it to her. She leaned into the other side of the wagon and pulled the second drop chain loose, rattling it against the floor. “Check the bins and see if we've got a pair of ringbolts half again as long as my hoof.” “Okay.” True Blue snorted a couple of times, blowing her nostrils clear. Apple Honey sat in the space between the bolster and the singletree, and set the bit up against the wood. I'll just make the old holes into through-holes, she thought. It'll probably last as long as this bolster will. She was almost all the way through the first when Blue walked up beside her. “Don't have any ringbolts, but we've got a couple of hooks that’re threaded for nuts.” “That might be more practical. Have we got big enough washers? Six of them?” True Blue nodded. “So, here's what we can do.” It had taken Apple Honey a while to learn that she had to explain to her apprentice what she was doing, and why. She wasn't used to having any help: she usually just visualized things in her head and then carried out her plan. “We'll put one end of the chain between a pair of washers on the frontside. That'll hold it in place, and leave the free end to be dropped over the hook—they won't need linchpins any more.” “Why not just use four washers?” Apple Honey shook her head. “Chain'll dig into the bolster, and the ringbolt will work loose.” She tapped a hoof against the wood to illustrate her point. “Probably won't be as strong as a ringbolt would be, but on this wagon it won't matter. Enough load to pull the hook open will probably just split the bolster.” She slid the brace and bit across to the other side, and followed it by scooching on her behind. “You got the ringbolts knocked off the old chain yet?” True Blue looked guiltily down at the chains spread across the floor. “Get to it. Sledgehammer's on the workbench somewhere.” • • • After showing True Blue the proper way to open a ringbolt, Apple Honey let her free the other chain. She'd already set the first loosely in place, and did the same with the second when True Blue brought it over. “I'm going to have you hold the nuts, then tighten them down,” Apple Honey explained as she pointed to a wrench. “Be easiest if you were under there.” “Got it.” True Blue looked around. “Um, where's the . . . uh, the laying down roller dohicky thing?” “Leaning over on the wall. Right next to the broom.” “Mister Sweepy?” “Yes.” Apple Honey nodded. “Mister Sweepy.” She eyed the small piles of filth underneath the wagon. “Which you will be using as soon as we've got this wagon out of the shop.” Apple Honey turned her ears as she heard the front door of the shop jingle. “Just a minute. I'm kinda busy,” she shouted towards her office. She turned her attention back to the wagon, just in time to see True Blue flop onto the creeper and shoot underneath the muck wagon. Braking hadn't been on the filly's mind; she rolled under the whole length of the wagon before bumping to a stop against Apple Honey's flank. Without a word, Apple Honey kicked the head of the creeper and launched it back out the other end of the wagon. Her apprentice stretched out her hind hooves just in time to stop before she smashed into the far wall, then sheepishly paddled back into position at a more sedate pace. She reached up with the wrench, and Apple Honey turned in the hook until the inner washer had just bitten into the bolster, then had True Blue tighten the nut. They switched over to the other one and got that tight, too. Satisfied with her work, Apple Honey got up off the floor and walked into the office to see who had just arrived. “Push the wagon into the backyard while I see who’s up front,” she called over her shoulder. A smile crossed her face as she spotted the fiery orange tail of Ginger Snap. The filly spun around when she heard the door behind her, and she broke out into a broad grin. “Good afternoon Miss Apple! Is Bluey here?” “Hello, Ginger. Blue's in the shop, sweeping up.” “Can I talk to her? ‘Cause we decided to move our filly scouts camping trip at the last meeting but she wasn't there so she wouldn't know.” “Sure.” “Oh, and I wanted to ask you if you could put something in the newspaper for us? We're selling cookies again to raise money and I thought it might help if it was in the newspaper. Me and some of the other fillies will be going door to door in the evening.” “I'd be glad to put that in the paper.” “Thanks a bunch!” Ginger looked at her hopefully. “Do you want to buy any cookies?” “Do you still sell those mint ones? Covered in chocolate?” Ginger nodded. “I'll take two boxes. Mm, no, make that three.” “Okay, thanks! Can I go back there and talk to Bluey?” “Go right ahead. Watch where you step” Apple Honey motioned for the door, before crossing the office and getting behind her desk. She picked up a scrap of paper and wrote a note about the cookie sale on it, then stuck it in the carriage of her typewriter, where she'd be sure to see it later. Ginger was gone by the time she got back into the shop—and so was the wagon. Blue had the broom in her teeth, and was clearing the wood shavings and clods of muck off the floor. Apple Honey picked up a dustpan, and was halfway to her apprentice when the bell over the office door rang again. “Just a minute,” she called out. “I’ll be right up there.” The newcomer clearly didn’t feel like waiting; she heard the latch on the Dutch door between the office and the shop open, followed by the distinctive click of caulks on concrete. “Hey, you weren’t up front.” I know. She turned to face Berry Punch. “Do you have any used washtubs or troughs or barrels or anything like that?” Apple Honey nodded. “Yeah. What size do you need?” “Anything, really, as long as it’s big enough to press grapes in.” She sighed. “I’ve got a loose stave on mine, and the cooper says it’s going to be a week before she can make me a new one.” “Hmm.” Apple Honey put her hoof to her chin in thought. “I’ve got a big oak barrel in back. I was going to use it as a rainbarrel, but never got around to it. You could use that, if we sawed it in half—or just took the lid off, if you didn’t mind stamping grapes on your hind hooves.” She looked up in time to see Blue rolling it into the shop. “That’s the best you’ve got?” “Don’t really get a lot of ‘em here, you know. Most ponies’d just trade ‘em with the cooper.” “If she had any—“ Berry said glumly. “You wouldn’t be here.” Apple Honey smiled. “I know. Nopony wants to be here when their stuff’s broken. So, will this barrel work for you?” “Yeah.” Berry ran a hoof over the wood. “Well, it’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing. I think—it’d be cheaper if you just took the lid off, right?” Apple Honey nodded. “Less coopering work for me.” “Can I pick it up at the end of the day? I’ve got to get back to my stand. I’ve got Cherry Berry watching it, but it’s not fair to make her run two stands.” “Sure. I’ll have it done by then.” • • • Apple Honey and True Blue had gotten to work as soon as Berry left, knocking the hoops off the staves and then fishing the head out of the barrel. She’d just finished demonstrating how to use a rope to pull the staves back together—not really necessary on this barrel, but still a handy bit of knowledge—when she heard the town’s fire bell begin to clang. She dropped the hoops over the barrel and picked up the wooden mallet, handing it to Blue. “It's going to be a little slow this afternoon,” Apple Honey said thoughtfully. “Half the ponies in town will have followed the fire engine. Now would be a good time to return Night Soil's wagon.” “We're closing early?” “No. You've got to stay here and put this barrel back together, then take care of the shop until I get back.” “Aww.” True Blue's ears fell. “But . . . I don't know how to do anything.” “Sure you do.” Apple Honey ruffled her mane. “And you'll know more if you have to learn it on your own. Adversity builds character, my dad always says.” “I know. He told me the same thing last time he was here.” She brightened slightly. “If the wagon's gone, it won't stink anymore.” “That's the spirit. Want to help me harness up?” Apple Honey walked over to a wall-peg and pulled down her harness, making sure that none of the straps were tangled. She sat down on the ground and fed the maze of straps and the yoke around her head, pushing them into about the right position with her forehooves. When she stood up, it was all mostly where it was supposed to go, which was a plus. Her hip strap assembly hung off a little bit to the right, and she wiggled her rump around to seat it better. True Blue came over and started helping, working around her hindquarters. She let the filly work—while putting on one's own harness was a mark of pride among earth ponies, it was always faster to have an assistant, especially for things like the crupper dock. “Pull the breeching strap in a little tighter,” Apple Honey advised. “The muck wagon hasn't got brakes.” “If it's any closer, you'll chafe your rump when you're pulling.” “I'll go slow. I'd rather not have it overrun me when I stop.” “You're the boss.” True Blue pulled the breeching strap one notch tighter. “That good?” She moved her hind legs experimentally, and nodded. “Good as it's going to get.” Her ears fell. “Why is it whenever I get into this thing, I suddenly have to pee?” “The same thing happens to me,” True Blue said brightly. She ran her hoof along all the straps, pushing them to make sure they were tight were they were supposed to be, and loose everywhere else. “How does it feel?” “It'll work.” Apple Honey walked over to the wagon and turned around, backing carefully between the shafts. She'd be a little further from the tongue than she was used to, since it was set up for a stallion, but it would work to get her across town. She let True Blue hook up the traces before she dug her hooves into the ground and began pulling. She'd gotten special shoes that had rubber inserts for better traction on the concrete floor of her workshop—they cost a little more, but they were worth it. With plain steel shoes, she'd just be skidding. The wagon felt heavier than it was—the wheel bearings were as worn out as everything else on the wagon. Once she got it moving, though, that would actually be a slight advantage—it wouldn't kick as much as wagons usually did. Of course, it would also be a lot of extra work to haul, but it wasn't that far across town. • • • “So?” “So?' Apple Honey stepped through the door of her shop and began shucking her harness. “So where was the fire?” True Blue leaned up against her stifle and unclipped the breeching strap. “I know that you asked.” “Pepperdance’s compost heap caught, and it spread to her toolshed.” “Ouch.” “I heard it was pretty minor, actually. Just scorched the walls. A pegasus got a cloud over it before the shed went up.” “No, your leg.” True Blue dropped the strap and looked closely at the damage. “I told you it was too tight.” “It's fine. Hardly even bleeding.” Apple Honey bent down and loosened her belly band. “You got the quarter straps unfastened?” “Yeah. Lift up your tail.” The filly stood on her hind legs and braced herself against Apple Honey's rump. She hooked the crupper dock’s loop on the toeclip of her horseshoe and gently slid it up until it was clear Apple Honey’s dock. “Okay, drop it.” When Apple Honey complied, the filly fed her tail the rest of the way through. “Okay.” Apple Honey leaned forward, letting the harness slide loosely along her body. She had to shake her head a couple of times to get the heavy yoke to move up her neck and drop to the ground, but after that it was a fairly simple matter to back the rest of the way out of the harness. “What do you want me to do now?” Blue asked eagerly. “I’m going to eat some food. You . . . there’s a broken spring tooth in the scrap bin. Sharpen it on the grinder, then bring it up front when it’s done.” “But, if it’s broken, why does it need to be sharpened?” “For practice. Believe me, most of our work is doing boring stuff like sharpening. You’ve got to learn to do that right.” Once Blue had scurried off to find the spring tooth, Apple Honey returned to her saddlebags, which were lumped across her chair. She pulled out the food she’d gotten from the market, her stomach growling at the scent of the fresh produce. She shoved a carrot in her mouth and began chewing, hoping that she could bolt down most of her lunch before a customer interrupted her, but it was not to be. She’d just taken a bite of an apple when Heather Rose let herself into the office. “Did you hear about the fire out at Pepperdance's place? “Yeah.” She furrowed her brow. “I heard it was just the compost heap and the shed—that's all, isn't it?” “Yeah,” Heather Rose scuffed her hoof on the ground. “But the fire engine got stuck.” Her ears perked up. “Ground's pretty soft out there, that's why the compost heap's where it is, 'cause if it floods in the spring it doesn't matter.” “And the shed's up on rocks, to keep it dry.” “Gives the chickens a place to have shade, too. Pretty smart of her.” “But it rained yesterday morning and the day before—“ “—and the engine dumped a lot more water on already soaked ground,” Heather Rose finished. “I thought a pegasus put out the fire.” “Blossomforth, yeah. She saw the smoke, and dragged a cloud over to soak the shed, but there wasn’t enough rain left in it to really wet down the compost heap. The fireponies had to rake it out and soak all the hot spots to get it all the way out. They used up all the water in the tank wagon, and a couple more rainclouds, before they were done. We're going to need a bunch of ropes and tackle to get the engine out.” “I'll bring my stone-boat.” Apple Honey was already picturing the scene in her mind. “I've got to stop over at Bumblesweet's place and drop off a new bee house for her. And finish eating—I missed most of lunch, 'cause I had to fix one of Night Soil's muck wagons.” “There'll be food out there.” Heather Rose sighed. “I'm bringing drinks, too. A couple of cases of ale. Might as well make a night of it . . . 'cause that's how long it'll take.” “I'll head out after closing. I'll bring True Blue, too, if she can stay out late.” “Bring any extra eveners and chain you've got,” Heather Rose advised. “It's pretty bad.”
EveningView OnlineApple Honey's Perfectly Ordinary DayEveningApple Honey’s Perfectly Ordinary Day Chapter 3: Evening “I don't get it,” True Blue said as Apple Honey started putting her harness on. “We've gotten wagons stuck on the farm before, and it's usually not that hard to get them out—they'll probably have it out before we get there. Unless everypony's standing around drinking and talking about it instead of doing something.” She made a face. “Our farmhooves do that all the time.” “What do you do when you get a wagon stuck?” “First, we unload it, to make it lighter. Most of the time, that's all it takes.” “Yeah, that's a good starting point. You can leave the breeching strap off—I'll be taking my stone-boat out there, and I sure won't need it for the fire engine. So what happens if you can't unload the wagon?” 'You mean like if it's full of barrels or something and we don't have a ramp? We just . . . oh.” “The only way they can make the fire engine lighter is if they dump all the water, and they can't do that unless the boiler's all the way out.” She grimaced. “I wouldn't want to be in the chief's shoes right now.” She looked up at a weather pegasus flying northeast, pushing a raincloud. “No rain scheduled for today . . . I bet they're bringing extra water, and maybe stocking some rainclouds around town, just in case. That's going to mess up the weather schedule. “I wish somepony in town had a donkey engine.” She glanced at the collection of ropes and pulleys in her market cart. The load was light enough for a filly to pull—which was a good thing. She hadn't told Blue about that task yet. She'd figure it out on her own. “It'd probably get stuck, too.” Blue looked at the market cart, slow comprehension dawning in her eyes. “The stone-boat won't fit in that cart, will it?” “Nope.” Blue sighed. “I wish I had a proper harness, instead of just a breastcollar harness.” “You're still a growing filly,” Apple Honey reminded her. “That's all you need right now. When you're bigger—“ “Yeah, yeah.” She unenthusiastically pulled her harness off its peg and began climbing into it. Apple Honey helped her fasten the straps, then hooked her to the market wagon. She'd already checked the balance when she loaded it, but she still took the time to lift up on the shafts to make sure that the proper amount of weight was carried by the backstrap. Too much, and Blue would wear herself out; too little, and she risked being yanked off her hooves by the wagon. It was much simpler to hook up to the stone-boat—instead of rigid shafts, a pair of chains were attached to the front of each runner, and it tracked far enough behind her she could easily clip them on herself. She had to unhook herself to close the front door of the shop, but it was only a moment's work before it was trailing behind her again. “What do you want the stone-boat for, anyway?” Blue asked as they made their way through town. “Two reasons: We'll be in a field, so if we need to hook up pulleys, we'll need something to anchor them to. We can load it with rocks once we get there, for weight.” “Won't that make it sink in the mud?” “Hopefully. The deeper it sinks, the more firmly anchored it will be.” She glanced over at Blue, and took the opportunity to make sure that her apprentice's harness was riding correctly. “Even if we don't need it for that, it might be easier to pull the fire engine out if we can get the wheels up on a couple of stone-boats.” “Because . . . because once it's out of the mire, it will still want to sink in the mud.” “Yeah. I hope we don't have to do either, but I'd rather have it and not need it than have to go all the way back in town for it.” • • • Pepperdance's farm was buzzing with activity. Apple Honey took the lead, dragging her stone-boat under the archway and around the house, with Blue right on her tail. Even if she hadn't known the layout of the farm, it would not have been any trouble to find where their task was. The job of freeing the stuck fire engine had turned into an impromptu party, with all of Pepperdance's neighbors and kinfolk along to help. A hay wagon had been turned into a makeshift banquet table—one end was covered with food, while the other held the promised bottles of ale. Heather Rose was standing by them, making certain nopony opened a celebratory bottle until after the fire engine was extracted. The fire engine itself was being attended to by a pair of glum-looking volunteer fireponies. Both of them had shovels and were attempting to dig a sloping trench in front of the wagon. No doubt they imagined that they could hitch up to it and pull it out forward. Judging by the muddy soil sloughing off their shovels, that was a fool's hope. The coils of rope attached to eveners told the story well enough—they'd probably managed to shift it forward a few ponylengths, but they'd be there until Hearth's Warming if they thought they could get it out that way. The land sloped slightly down, so all the ground in front of it would be saturated. Besides, everypony knew that the best way to pull a wagon out was to reverse the course it had taken to get stuck. It seemed more difficult, since wagons weren't meant to be pulled from behind, but it was always quicker in the long run. “I hope Pepperdance is willing to treat everypony to a trip to the spa once the engine’s out,” Apple Honey muttered. “Go ahead and pull your wagon around to Pepper's shed, then get unhitched. It'll be out of the way there, and it'll keep the blocks and ropes close to hoof. We're going to want to stretch a pair of lines to the back axle. “You two.” She motioned to the fireponies. “Might as well stop digging—you're never going to get it out that way. Is the fire still up in the engine?” “Yeah.” The bigger stallion wiped his brow and looked at her. “Chief said to keep it up, 'cause it takes hours to cool down.” “How stable is it?” “It's not. Boiler makes it top-heavy. The water tank helps weigh it down, but it can get sloshy, especially when it's low.” “Alright.” The downside of extracting a wagon from a field was that there wasn't anywhere to hook a block and tackle. In town, it wasn't so bad—there was always somepony who got her wagon stuck after a rainstorm, and Apple Honey could just tie off to the nearest house. She could appreciate how nopony standing around had wanted to take responsibility—if the engine tipped over, it might explode. They were all content to let the fire department take the lead, even if there were mares in the crowd who knew better. A lot of the older ponies in town still had a distrust of steam-powered equipment, and they'd passed that on to their offspring. The Lavender sisters in particular kept their distance, always with a wary eye in its direction. “Does anypony have a set of drags?” she asked, loudly enough that the crowd could hear her. "I do," Lavender August offered. "Back at my farm." "Could you get them please?" "Sure!" She rounded up her sisters, and the trio hurried off. “What good will those do?” True Blue waved a hoof at the wagon. “It doesn't need extra braking.” “They'll add a bit of surface area to the wheels, maybe enough to get it free,” Apple Honey explained. “I'm not sure we'll actually need them, but they might come in handy. “You there.” She pointed to the bigger firepony. With his helmet and turnout coat on, she didn't recognize him, and the pervasive stink of burned compost masked his scent. “Get your shovel and dig under the engine far enough to clear the bottom of the boiler. We're going to pull it out backwards.” “Front wheels will turn sideways and tip it,” he protested. “Once you start pulling—that's why it's got to come out forwards.” “I've got a plan,” she told him. “Blue, start getting out the rope and threading it through blocks. Hook 'em to an extra doubletree; we’ll hitch everypony to that.” She took a quick glance around the field. “Figure . . . twelve ponies pulling. I'll drag my stone-boat about there, and we'll nose it into the ground and start piling on rocks.” • • • It took about an hour to widen the ruts, set boards down in them, and get the rear end of the wagon shoveled free enough to get the ropes set up. By then, all the ponies standing around had gotten into their harnesses, and while there was a fair bit of jostling for position, she'd finally managed to wrangle everypony into her spot, making sure to keep the Lavenders at the front of the team where they'd feel safer. She and Blue went around checking all the fasteners. It was a bit of a gamble on the eveners, but she had a pretty good idea who the strong mares in town were. The two fireponies were harnessed to the tongue of the engine, facing backwards. They'd ensure that the front axle didn't pivot and tip the whole thing over. She probably could have gotten better use out of the big stallion, but it was his fault that the thing was stuck to begin with. A set of tackles was chained to the doubletree Pepperdance had provided, which in turn was attached to the firmly anchored stone-boat. A second set was short-chained to the axle of the fire engine. That would quadruple the pulling power, although everypony would be halfway across the field by the time the engine got to solid ground—if it did. Apple Honey's stomach growled at her. Normally she'd be at the Prancing Pony, gossiping over dinner with all her kinfolk and fretting over Apple Leaves' youngest. Instead, here she was, coated from fetlocks to poll in mud and sweat. “On my call,” she shouted. “Pull until I say stop. Don't let up, especially when it starts to get easy. Don't let the ropes slack out. If we do it right, we can have this thing out in one tug. If we don't, we're going to have to get some unicorns to lift it.” She waited until the discontented muttering had died down. The very idea of needing unicorns to pull a wagon loose was practically a mortal insult, and it had the intended effect. “Start slow,” she advised. “Get the stretch out of the rope first, then give it all you've got.” “Will this work?” Blue asked quietly. “Yes.” She checked the scene one more time, making sure that all the ropes were free and that there weren't any obstacles in anypony's path. “Now! Pull!” The ropes jerked tight, springing up slightly then settling back down. As the fibers compressed, muddy water dribbled out. She glanced up at the dozen farmponies—all of them had their heads down and hooves dug into the soft soil. It was going to take Pepperdance a couple days of hard work to level her field again, but that couldn’t be helped. For a heart-stopping second, she thought it wasn't going to work. She saw a clod of earth get kicked up as Heather Rose's hind hoof slipped, and the mare struggled to get her balance back without slacking any of the chains that tied them all together. Then the wheels of the fire engine began to turn, slowly at first, their spokes dragging on the loose mud at the sides of the rut. They didn't have any bite, not yet. The bottom of the boiler was digging into the loose earth, scraping up a small wave of dirt around its circumference. The wagon moved a few feet, rising slightly as it hit the boards they'd placed in the ruts, then sinking back down as it drove the ends of the wood under the mud. She was glad that nopony was looking back—they might have lost heart. She'd been expecting that to happen—the saturated ground had let its water out in the ruts, and softened them even more than they had been when the wagon first got stuck. A few feet later, the fire engine began to rise again, leaning slightly to the right. Her biggest fear now was that it would drop on one side and tip over, but as it came further and further out of the ground, it began to level. “More! Keep pulling!” she shouted. Already, the team had moved a fair distance down the field, and the gap only widened as the engine kept coming. She watched the ever decreasing distance between the doubletree and the axle. If her calculations were wrong, it wouldn't be on solid ground before the two met. Even if it made it all the way out, she wanted to get as much distance as they could between the fire engine and the sloping ground. Ideally, there would be enough room that the fireponies could pull it forward and away, but a quick estimate of the rope remaining told her that that was just a pipe dream. “Whoa!” Right towards the end, as the load had lightened, the rope had fed through the blocks with frightening speed. The smaller firepony stopped faster than the dozen pulling from the other end and was dragged off his hooves; his partner dug in and helped bring the engine to a stop. The ropes went slack, then tightened again as the fire engine tried to roll back into the hole it had just come out of. “Stand where you are,” Apple Honey shouted at the farmponies. “Don't let it slide back.” She hurried over to the engine and looped the drop chains around the spokes, then hooked them securely into the ringbolts. When she was sure the engine wasn't going to go anywhere, she let the pulling ponies put slack in the line, and went with True Blue to help them unhook. Everything had gone so well so far, and she didn't want the night to end with somepony being taken to the hospital because she'd tripped over a chain. • • • Spirits were high after everypony had gotten unhooked. One by one, the farmponies went over to the wagon, but they all waited until Apple Honey came over to break into the ale. They let her have the first bottle, then pressed the second into True Blue’s hooves. Unnoticed by everypony, the fire stallions slunk off, their muddy fire engine in tow. “I don’t think I can finish this,” Blue said, setting her half-empty bottle back on the wagon. “Heather Rose won’t be mad if I don’t, will she?” “She won’t mind,” Apple Honey assured her. “How late can you stay out?” “Well. . . .” The filly looked around uncertainly. “Mom’ll be kind of mad that I missed dinner, but since it was for work it’ll be okay. I don’t think she’ll be happy if I stay out partying with the big ponies, though.” “Grab a bite to eat,” Apple Honey advised. “Try some of the pepper soup—it’s really good. It’ll fill your tummy.” “We’ll have to pick up all the ropes and stuff when we’re done eating, won’t we?” “Yeah.” “Do you think anypony will help?” Apple Honey looked around at the clusters of drinking and gossiping ponies. “Once we’re done eating, yeah. I’ll round everypony up, and we’ll get everything put back in the market wagon. Then we can all rinse off in the pond, and you can take the wagon back to town and head home. Just leave it in front of the shop: I’ll put it away when I get back.” • • • Finally back at the shop, she slid the door open and dragged her stone-boat inside. It would have been easier to leave it in the middle of the floor, but if she did, she'd have to put on her harness first thing in the morning to move it. It was easier to do it now. She did leave the market wagon inside—it wasn't that difficult to push along with her snout. Regrettably, it was going to leave a fair bit of mud on her floor, but that could be swept up in the morning, after she'd rinsed off the ropes and the tackles. One of the nicest things about summer was that even after her late day, it was still light out. In the winter, there were days where she finished work by lamplight, although she did work a lot of half-days then. There wasn't much call to repair farm equipment when the fallow fields were under chest-deep snow. A few smart farmers had all their tools repaired then, since they could do without them, but most of her clientele wasn't as interested in preventative maintenance as they should have been. Spring and fall were hectic . . . but summer was just the right blend of steady, with a reasonable amount of free time. On her desk, the beehive was still where she'd left it. It would keep until the morning, she decided. It was too late for Bumblesweet to set it up now, and besides, she was getting such a good deal on the thing, she could wait an extra day. She covered a yawn with her forehoof, and decided that she was officially done with work for the day, and could move on to her evening chores. Out in her yard, she leaned down and tried to nuzzle Tom as he twined around her legs, but this time, he was too quick for her, and all she got was a nose full of fluffy tail, then he was off, making his evening circuit of the perimeter. Apple Honey worked her way through the kaleyard, tugging up every weed she came across. There weren't many—she paid close attention to her garden. Behind her, the chickens pecked at the newly-uncovered earth, searching for any fresh bugs she'd revealed. Before she'd gotten Tom, she'd had to herd the chickens back in their coop for the night, but now she could just leave them out without fear of predation. They'd go back to their roost when they felt like it, and she was sure they were happier if a pony didn't impose a schedule on them. Satisfied that her day's work was truly done, she walked over to the side of her shed, where a showerhead was mounted above a stone-flagged patio. The dip in the pond at Pepperdance's had rinsed off the worst of the mud, but she wasn't properly clean, and she aimed to fix that before she retired for the night. A stallion had sold it to her a few years back, claiming that it would save her a bunch of bits at the spa, and he was right. Now she only visited once a week, except in the winter, of course. Like most farm mares, she got cleaned up at the end of day—while unicorns felt it was proper to bathe at the start of the day, they never worked up a sweat like an honest earth pony would. She opened the valve and stepped into the water immediately—it was better to do it that way, rather than move in slowly. Tom watched her from a safe distance, confused at why she would willingly get herself wet. To drive home his philosophy, when she lifted a hoof to rinse the mud off, he raised his own paw, licked it, and rubbed it across his forehead, then glanced back at her to make sure she got the message. Once she'd washed the sweat and mud out of her coat, she lifted each hoof and cleaned them with a stiff brush and a hoof knife, making sure to get all the dirt out of the crevices around her shoe and frog. That also gave her a chance to inspect her shoe nails. She shut off the shower and shook herself off, then headed inside for the night with the pleasant feeling of a day well spent. She could spend an hour in the little nook off her kitchen reading a chapter of The Mystery of the Manehattan Musical Mare Mixup, which would give her mane and coat time to dry, and then head upstairs to bed. Get a good night's sleep, and she’d be ready for another perfectly ordinary day. Author's Note For the link to the story notes, click HERE
