Apples Falling Far From Trees
Flight is a dance between balance and imbalance.
Rainbow Dash’s mind often wandered when she flew. To keep herself focused during the long straight stretches, she liked to visualize herself balanced on the head of a pin, her outstretched wings melting into the clear blue sky until she became one with everything and all the heavens rested on a single point in space.
Below her, the reds and golds of autumn swept through the forests. Only one field on the outskirts of Ponyville clung to its summery green color.
Dash tipped to the side and fell towards it. The perfect point of balance pierced her belly and came out her back. It lingered in the air above her, calling out for her to return. Such was the dance of flight. A body in balance always wanted to fall, and a body imbalanced always wanted to become right.
Applejack was waiting for her on the ground. “They should call you Late-bow Dash,” she said once Dash was within earshot. “How’d it go?”
Dash pulled up at the last moment and struck a heroic pose. “I pulled the hero of Equestria card and bowled ‘em over, that’s what happened. I got two extra light showers for you—one tomorrow and one at the end of the month.”
Applejack sighed in relief. “That’s real good. You’re saving our cider harvest, Dash.”
“Anything for the cider.”
Dash barely concealed a wobbly first step. Reconnecting with the earth after a long flight always threw off her sense of up and down. She wondered how earth ponies like Applejack could stand it all the time.
“You hungry?” Applejack asked, leading Dash towards the main house. “I wanna hear about your trip.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to hear about my trip.”
“I really do. I wanna know what you said just in case we have to say the same thing next year.”
Laughter swept them up in a great rush, and before either of them knew it they were touseling each others’ manes and hollering into space and racing towards the house. A wash of fragrant cinnamon and vanilla spice, met them at the door. It felt as homey as any home Dash had ever known.
As Rainbow Dash watched from the kitchen table, Applejack prepared some her world famous ice cream fallers. She generously coated several balls of apple ice cream in egg white batter before rolling them in crushed cornflakes and cinnamon. Working quickly, she dunked each ball into a vat of fry oil, cycling through the whole batch in under a minute. While they were still hissing and spitting, she brushed each one with cinnamon butter and arranged them on a family-sized serving plate with whipped cream.
They were called fallers because if you didn’t fall out of your seat after the first bite, you would fall through your chair after you finished the whole portion.
“Oh my gosh,” Dash whispered, then dove in.
The first time Rainbow Dash tried some of Applejack’s fallers, they made her stomach turn. Not because they weren’t delicious—they were, achingly so. It was the name that got to her. Fallers in pegasi culture referred to ponies who broke their wings mid-flight and couldn’t control their descent to the ground.
It took time for Dash to understand how different the concept of falling was to a pony who stayed on the ground her whole life.
Applejack waited patiently until Dash finished licking the last of the melted ice cream and butter from the plate before asking, “Where does it all go?”
“Hmm? Where does what go?”
“The calories. They’re not on your hips. Where’d they go?”
Dash laughed. “Thin air.”
“Hmm, thin air.” Applejack smiled wryly. “I wish I worked like that.”
“The air’s thicker down here. You can’t help it.”
“Oh yeah? Is that how it works?”
Dash leaned back and shrugged contentedly. Her chair squeaked. They shared a knowing look.
“So why has the weather bureau been so stingy with storms this season?” Applejack asked. “I really appreciate you goin’ up there and arguing on our behalf. But we could have avoided all that if they just responded to the request letters I sent.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the arguing. It’s kinda fun. But as far as letters go—they’re probably not reading them. A lot of farmers write letters this time of year.”
“Darn bureaucrats.”
“Hey, it’s a dry season. What can you do?”
“Make it rain, for starters.”
“C’mon, it’s not that easy.”
Applejack hummed disapprovingly. “I know. But there has to be something someone can do.”
“Someone's not the problem. Something’s the problem. There’s always too many storms where they’re not needed, and too few storms were there are needed. You can’t shuffle ‘em around too much either, or they’ll break up.”
“They could build more weather factories, then.”
“Those—ugh. I love the weather factories, but if every weather factory in Cloudsdale put their systems into overdrive five days a week, they still wouldn’t be able to keep up with demand. Maybe in twenty years they will. But not today. We’d need whole factory cities if we really wanted to keep up with demand.” She paused. “That sounds kinda cool, actually.”
“Until you’d have to work in one.”
“Oh yeah.” Dash laughed. “I did my time. I’m never working in a weather factory again.”
“Was it really so bad?”
“I guess it wasn’t terrible. But I couldn’t fly anywhere, not like I could with the weather patrol. Not like the Wonderbolts.”
“Ain’t nothing like the Wonderbolts, I suppose,” Applejack said.
“Yeah. It’s like, some jobs you don’t really have to work. Because you’re having fun, and work isn’t fun.”
“Work can be fun.”
“Well—you know what I mean. Rarity never works. Twilight, when she’s working in a library or cataloging or whatever, she’s not working. When you’re bucking trees, you’re not working.”
“Trust me,” Applejack said, rubbing her knees, “I’m working.”
“But you get what I’m saying, right? It’s not like work-work.”
“It is.”
A steely firmness to her friend’s voice drew Dash up short. She wished she had another faller to stuff in her mouth, and not just because they were delicious. “Well... like, I have to work in order to fly, but it’s not like working at the weather factory was. Farming to you is like flying to me.” She looked around. No lost fallers in sight. “Right?”
Applejack leaned back in her chair, eyes set on the empty plates between them. “It ain’t working in a factory. But it’s not like flying, either. It’s real work. I like working with my hooves, but there’s a lot more at play than just me bucking trees.”
“Well, yeah, you make stuff with the apples after you buck the trees.”
“It’s—” Applejack paused, playing her next thought out in her mind. “Look, if magic didn’t ruin the taste, I’d hire unicorns to pick all the apples. If machines didn’t pollute so much, I’d get those fancy gas-powered carts to haul the crops. I want my farm to have the best apples around, so I can’t do any of that. Doing something well is a risky venture.”
“But you love doing it.”
“I’m a provider, Dash. I love to provide, but I also have to provide. The farm’s a vehicle to provide.”
Dash furrowed her brow. Was this turning into an argument? How could anyone argue after eating fallers? “I’m not trying to be mean or anything.”
“I know, I know. You’re not being mean. But it’s easy to say all that stuff about work and play when no one else has a stake in your failure.”
“Everyone who likes your stuff has a stake in your failure.”
“C’mon now. The writing’s on my butt. I’m in this on a molecular level, Dash. In it down to my bones and up to my neck.”
The lightbulb flashed in Dash’s mind. “Are you stressed over the water thing?”
“Of course I was stressed over the water thing! I barely got a drop for weeks. No one wanted anything to do with my letters. You had to fly all the way up to Cloudsdale and petition on my behalf—”
“Which I was totally cool with doing, by the way.”
“It’s just a lot.” Applejack shrugged defeatedly. “Farming’s a balancing game. I guess I freak out when things tip.”
Now there was something Dash understood. “It’s all about balance. Yeah.”
“Did I sound mean just now?”
“Nah. Did I?”
“Nah.”
They both stared at the empty plate. A little pool of melted butter and bits of fried cornflakes coagulated in the middle. Dash resisted the urge to scoop it up with the tip of her hoof.
“Wanna know what makes me feel better when I get stressed out?” Dash asked.
“What?”
Dash waggled her eyebrows.
Applejack’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. You are not—”
“Five minutes. I won’t even take you that high.”
“What did I say the last ten times you offered?”
“You’ll feel amazing. I’ll watch your hat for you too.”
“I’m just fine on the ground, thank you very much.”
Dash leapt up from her chair. “You are gonna feel so amazing. C’mon!”
“Some ponies say a lively game of cards is just as good.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Please?”
Five minutes later, they were outside. Dash pumped her wings in a full, steady rhythm to account for the extra weight. Applejack, hatless and tense like a coiled spring, dangled beneath her.
They really shouldn’t have eaten all those fallers, Dash thought. She shifted her friend. Applejack yelped.
“Okay,” Dash shouted over the clip of the wind. “On the count of three—”
“How high are we?”
“I dunno! On the count of three—”
“I think you know and you’re not telling me.”
“If I told you, would you feel better?”
“Yes!”
“Two hundred lengths.”
Applejack writhed beneath her.
Dash grunted and gripped her friend tighter. “See? I knew you wouldn’t feel better!”
“Then why’d you tell me?”
In reality, they were at least six hundred lengths above the tallest of Sweet Apple Acres’ endless rows of trees. The air felt cool against Dash’s coat, and the living paint swatch of orange hanging onto her for dear life really brought out the oranges.
“Okay,” Dash said again, “on the count of three I’m going to drop you.”
Applejack swore.
“Relax. When I drop you, I want you to adjust your center of gravity so you fall flat on your belly. Don’t kick your legs or anything.”
“Why? So I splat nice n’ even when I hit the ground?”
“You’re not gonna hit the ground. I’m gonna catch you way before you hit the ground.”
Applejack started squirming again. It occured to Dash they would look hilarious from the ground.
“Ready AJ?”
“No no no no—”
“One, two—”
Dash let go.
With the weight beneath her gone, Dash savored a split second of weightlessness. Then she tucked her wings and plunged through the air. She followed the screaming and found her friend a moment later.
When Applejack saw Dash falling beside her, she stopped flailing her legs so much. “What do I do?” she shouted over the howl of the wind.
“Balance!” Dash yelled back. “Feel it right here!” She pointed to her belly. “Feel it!”
Applejack wobbled for another moment before squeezing her eyes shut in concentration. Dash backed off to a respectful distance and watched with no small amount of satisfaction as the look on her friend’s face began to change. Panic morphed into pure concentration, then finally melted away into zen nothingness.
Dash pumped her fists and pulled a few silent celebratory rolls. Then she noticed the ground was coming up awfully fast. She assumed a nosedive position and tackled Applejack from out of the air. Once she was firmly in her grasp, Dash, opened her wings and arrested their fall.
They hit the earth together, not fast enough to hurt but fast enough that their perfect landing quickly turned into a perfect tangled-up tumble through the soft grass.
They came to rest between the rows of apple trees, dizzy and laughing. Dash threw her voice in a hysterical howl until her throat was raw, then collapsed in the grass.
A chorus of chirping crickets slowly rose over the sound of their breathing, until all that was left was night noise.
“Pretty fun, right?” Dash said, panting.
“Pretty crazy,” Applejack groaned. “Please don’t make me do that again.”
“But it’s fun.”
“Wasn’t worth it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
Dash wilted. Normally flying had no effect on her stomach. Now she felt it twist. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”
Applejack shook her head. “If I’d never tried it, I wouldn’t know how much I didn’t like it.”
As Rainbow puzzled over those words, Applejack flipped onto her belly and pressed her cheek into the soft earth. A content look came over her face. Dash tried to imagine what she was thinking right now, hooves outstretched and digging into the dirt, all barriers falling away until she became one with everything and all the earth rested on a single point in space.
For some reason, it made her think of fallers.
“AJ?” Dash asked.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for trying.”
Applejack nodded, then put her head face-down in the dirt.
Perfect balance.
