The Perfect Pear

Canterlot, California, 1991

Grand Pear awoke one fine day with the snow already on the ground. He looked outside, then pulled himself out of bed and headed to the shower, emerging minutes later thoroughly refreshed.

As he walked down the stairs, fully dressed for a day of work, he contemplated all that had happened during his 38 or so years of life. He had been born in the middle of the Second World War, and had lost his father at a young age (his father had been a Marine). As a result, growing up had always left him with a hole in his heart, so he had filled his time working on the farm and spotting trains out on the mainline as they rattled to and fro from Canterlot to Los Angeles. He had seen many things, and had also witnessed the boom of the 1950s, lived the 1960s, both the Swinging and the considerably less Swinging bits, then taken on the responsibility of a father at just 20 years of age.

He thought fondly of his wife. They had met at Canterlot High School and married when they were just 18. They were fools in love, but if that was indeed the case, and being a fool felt this good, Grand Pear doubted he wanted to be a scholar or visionary. Then Pear had arrived just two years later, and their lives became immeasurably happier.

But alas, his wife was gone. Next summer would mark 3 years since she was laid to rest. Grand Pear did miss her, but his daughter reminded him of his lost wife. That was why Pear was so dear to him.

It was also why that new kid filled him with concern.

It was obvious to all on the farm that Pear had taken a liking to Bright Mac. It was the talk of everyone in the bunkhouse and farmhouse, and even in the barns! Whilst Grand Pear was certain that Mac meant no ill will, he still felt concerned, as any father would.

As he stepped outside into the sun, he saw Pear staring out into the fields, right where Bright was working. She had a happy smile on her face, her orange hair collecting around her shoulders as she looked out over the farm, the farm she called home.

“Pear?” called Grand Pear, wishing to speak to her. With a look of surprise, she wheeled around and looked directly at her father.

“Yes, pa?” she asked.

“Ah want ta speak ta ya quickly,” Grand said quickly.

“Is it about Mac?” Pear asked in response.

“Well, yes.” Grand sighed. “Ya see, Ah get ya like him, but-”

“Pa, we ain’t like that,” Pear replied. “We’re just friends, that’s all.”

“How many times have Ah heard that one before?” Grand asked rhetorically. “Ya see, Ah get that he’s a nice boy, but at the same time ya need ta be careful.”

“Why?” Pear asked.

“Ah get that yer a woman now, and can make yer own choices, but at the same time ya need ta understand that not all guys are honest and earnest. And please keep in mind that whilst Mac seems a nice enough sort, he ain’t from around here. They’ve got different customs up in West Virginia, and so he may not gel here so well at first.”

“Ah will Pa,” Pear replied. “Please don’t worry.” Then Pear headed off to the barn to fire up a tractor for the day's work.

Grand sighed. “Honestly, that girl’s so headstrong. But she’s got a good heart, and would always put somebody else before herself.”

Later that day, he saw a pair of tractors roar past, equipped with ploughs, ready to work the fields. One of them was driven by Bright Mac, and the other by a fellow with brownish skin and white hair, who also had a hat on to protect him from the sun. That man was Burnt Oak, his nephew from his brother. Or was it his sister? He got hopelessly confused sometimes, as his family tree was incredibly complicated.

“We breed like rabbits sometimes,” he groaned. Then he remembered. His brother had married an Orange over in New York, and taken their name. They in turn had a son, Moseley, who had recently got married.

“More nephews or nieces cannot hurt,” he smiled, as he saw Pear walking on a water tower. But then his recollection was broken.

There was an ear-splitting crash, and he saw Bright and Burnt disappearing into the treeline. What he saw next shocked him.

Pear was standing next to a thoroughly demolished water tower. Grand walked over.

“How on earth did this mess happen?” he asked. “You need to get this tower rebuilt, pronto.”

“It weren’t her, sir,” said a voice.

Standing there was Bright Mac. “Ah damaged the tower, as Ah crashed a tractor into it.”

Grand shook his head. “Well, you’d better get it fixed, hadn’t ya?”

Mac was true to his word. He got the tower rebuilt in record time, and that meant that water could once again be supplied to the fields to keep them nourished.

Grand Pear headed off to bed with a happy smile that night. “Maybe that Bright Mac ain’t so bad after all,” he smiled.