“How much, Uncle Orange?” Applejack asked quietly.

Mosely hung his head, sighing, “Almost everything. It just seemed like such a splendid opportunity, that not to take advantage of it to the hilt would be a crime. They showed us all these brochures, slideshows, the paperwork looked so genuine. All they said they needed was some additional capital, and the returns they projected were through the roof.”

“So we, I, took just about every liquid bit we had and plowed it into this scam. Then, because I wanted to appear generous, I convinced most of our friends to join in. Fortunately, none of them were as naïve as I was, and they didn’t risk anything that they couldn’t afford to lose. Still, ever since I endorsed the enterprise, the Orange name had been less than worthless in Manehatten.”

As Applejack put her foreleg around his shoulder to comfort him, he just felt his misery deepen. That, he, Mosely Orange of the Manehatten Oranges, had fallen this far. That he had to request charity from his niece.

“You know that the Apples are always glad to help out kinfolk.” Applejack ineffectively consoled, “We know first-hand how easy it is to get bamboozled by hucksters.”

As his brother’s daughter related how Sweet Apple Acres almost went under due to a hubris fueled bet, he felt his shame lighten a little. He couldn’t keep his jaw from dropping when she related how Granny Smith got snookered by the same con-artists a second time, by a bogus medicine show.

“You mean to tell me that You, an Element of Harmony, endorsed their quack remedy?” He couldn’t believe his ears, “Even after you found discovered it was just beet leaves and apple juice?”

“E’Yup.” Applejack shook her head with a wry smile, “Sometimes the easiest pony to convenience is yourself. Can’t say that I am proud of what I did back then, and it shore did hurt to get up in front of all those ponies and admit I had misled them, but I can say that I am stronger for having gone through the experience. Ain’t no shame in making mistakes, just from not learning from ‘em afterwards.”

“You sure have come a long way,” He said with a smile, “From a little filly searching for her place in the world, to a mare who has grown wise beyond *my* years. Valencia and I truly are grateful for your assisting us during this . . . unfortunate period.”

“I just wish we had more that we could offer y’all. As it is, Carmel leaving for Dodge Junction to go work for Cherry Jubilee is the only reason we have a place available.” Applejack looked abashed, “I am afraid that he may not have left his homestead in the best shape when he took off a few weeks ago, and we haven’t gotten a chance to go over it since. Y’all are welcome to any tools, and general supplies we have in the barn. Aside from that however, things are a mite tight around her until applebuck season hits.”

“Considering our current situation, we can have no complaints, and are grateful for all the help you have been able to offer. I feel bad enough accepting a place to stay, I couldn’t accept bits if you had them to spare. In any case,” He countered, “I am sure that the two of us can get back on our hooves with that land in no time.”

Having parted with that bit of unfelt confidence, he went to collect his wife from the barn where she had been guided by their younger niece. When he found her, he could scarcely believe his senses. There she was, the jewel of the cocktail party scene, feeding withered apples to a pig. In a mud wallow.

“Oh there you are dah’ling,” Valencia cooed, “Come and meet Arnold here. Isn't he is just the sweetest thing.”

Mosley’s eyes drifted to take in the mud caked porcine, noticing that it seemed to be blushing from her praise.

“Hrnk?” It snuffled, nosing at Valencia, unabashedly begging for more food.

“Uh, hi Arnold,” he hesitantly offered the massive hog, then turning to his wife, “I finished my talk with Applejack, she said that a sharecropper recently left, and that we would be welcome to his old place.” Noticing his niece’s ears perk up, he ventured, “Do you think you could show us where Carmel’s old homestead is, Applebloom?”

“Sure thing, Uncle Orange,” The sweet young filly offered, “Follow me, it’s just down the main road. Y’all actually passed right by it when you came in from the train station. It’s kinda hidden behind the hill, though, so most no one sees it afore they get to the farm proper.”

Mosely quickly hitched himself back up to the small cart containing their belongings. ‘All our belongings.’ He thought bitterly to himself. Their furniture belonged to the same company that they had leased their luxurious penthouse from. All that was behind them now. Aside from Valencia’s more elaborate wardrobe choices, which they had left in storage, all that they could call their own was packed in this rickety second hand cart that he had to pull himself.

In short order, they arrived at the head of a small side path that branched off of the main track. Seeing that they were pointed in the right direction, Applebloom begged off escorting them the rest of the way. Something about ‘crusadin’ with the pair of fillies that were coming down the road from Ponyville. Left to their own devices, he and Valencia crested the hill, and took in the view of their new home for the foreseeable future: Nestled together in a hollow, created by the small hills on all sides, lay a single small cabin with a modest, unkempt field behind it.

“Well . . . it is something.” Doing his best to put on a brave face, “At least we will have some privacy, and there is plenty of potential here.”

“Ah, yes. Potential. With some luck, it will show better growth than your last venture.” He thought he caught a glimpse of regret as she turned to step gracefully down the hill, towards the cabin.

Even amongst this . . . rustic setting, she was a picture of elegance. ‘If only she could tell how much I love her. All I ever wanted was to deserve her affection. I thought that profits would let me show her how much she means to me, and look where she ended up because of that. Having to work on a country farm, while those beautiful hooves were meant for silken slippers. I fear that I have driven my dear Valencia further away than ever.’ With these morose musings, he followed his wife to the dilapidated cabin, and the life that awaited them within.

Author's Note

This mash-up is loosely inspired by the '65 to '71 sitcom Green Acres. Very loosely, essentially the name. I have never seen an episode of the show, so if you find any similarity to the characters or situations from the show Green Acres, it is either an astounding coincidence, or Wikipedia’s fault.

Uncle Orange is named Mosely Orange by the virtue of the minfig that bears his likeness being so named. Aunt Orange is named Valencia Orange by me. Primarily because she has no canon name, and Valencia was the nicest sounding variety of orange I could find.

Huge Thanks to WishyWish for inventing the phrase "Green Acres of sex", and for letting me promptly rip it completely out of context. Which then inspired me to go from being a 'someday' writer, into being an 'inflicting my writing on the unsuspecting populace' writer.