In Spring we plant the seeds
And watch the young shoots grow
In Summer we tend to crops
And weed, and water and hoe
Autumn heralds chills to come
And so we quickly harvest
So to farmers, who worked all year
Winter's just the best!
Whoever wrote that has never worked on a farm, not one day in their entire life. Big Macintosh breathed deeply and held it, letting the chilled morning air kick him awake. The sun still wasn't up, but the moonlight reflecting off the fresh layer of snow that came last night, or would it be earlier that day, provided more than sufficient light. Macintosh plodded through the ankle deep powder, the sled behind him gliding over the surface with ease.
Then, he released his breath, the steam curling out around his mouth. The red stallion chuckled, then tried to blow a smoke ring as he plodded his way along the property. The reason why he was out in the fields, despite the lack of apples to buck, could be summed up in a single word: maintenance. But that doesn't quite pad the story enough, so it wouldn't be fair to leave it at that.
Big Macintosh came to the first fallen branch, a weak limb that was ripped away under the weight of snowfall. Gripping it in his teeth, he laid it down on the sled. Then, with a moderate buck, he shook most of the snow from the remain limbs. It they let too many of the branches snap off, there wouldn't be enough for healthy growth in the Spring. Shaking the fallen snow from his mane, Macintosh gave one last inspection before moving on to the next tree, and doing the same all over. Pick up the limb, set it down on the sled, buck the tree, shake himself off. Pick up, set down, buck tree, shake self. Up, down, buck, shake.
It was boring, repetitive, monotonous, slow going, repetitive, and it was just doing the same thing over and over. And over. Less patient ponies would have gone crazy from the sheer mental strain of it all, forced to do it until one begins to wonder if there ever was a time they weren't gathering limbs. But Macintosh just worked, and was glad for the mindless task, because that gave him a chance to put his thoughts elsewhere.
I don't know why, but I'm feeling pretty good today. Sure, I still haven't had any vittles, but I ain't that hungry this morning anyway. Maybe I'm still pretty full from the Harvest Feast. Oh Celestia that was a good one this year. I can still smell it like it's right in front of me. Applejack made an apple pie, with Apple Bloom's help, that would have made Granny proud as peacock. And Fluttershy brought something new this year, said her Dad taught her how to make em. What did she call them again? Canoilie? They were good anyway.
Macintosh's stomach grumbled in protest of all the thought of food. Heh, guess I better think on something else before this gets out of control. The thought of the cannoli spurred another memory. Fluttershy taking a napkin and gently wiping away a bit of cream from his lip. Being a mother is going to be a piece of pie for her. She already has the instincts.
Up, down, buck, shake.
Speaking of motherhood, I suppose we should start worrying about the delivery. Good sense says we should go through with a proper hospital and all that. Nurse Redheart is wonderful, but I don't think she would say Ponyville's clinic is the most advanced of facilities. On the other hoof, Fluttershy would probably rather have a at home delivery anyway. She's been midwife to countless animals, so has Applejack and technically myself, though I'd rather not be called midwife... Maybe Zecora? She's always mixing up brews and potions, she probably has some elixir that would help ease the birth.
Macintosh stopped to look at the sky. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, and he saw Applejack heading into the field with her own sled. There was a silent changing of the guard, and he headed back to the house to put away the firewood and see about cooking breakfast for his sisters.
The stove top hissed with gas, and then flames. A coffee pot was cleaned and set to percolate. With the cold weather setting in, big Macintosh figured a hearty oatmeal would be in order once more. The ingredients bubbled away a few minutes later, and Mac took the moment to sit down. Apple Bloom walked into the kitchen with a yawn and smiled at her big brother.
"Morning, Big Mac."
"G'morning."
Apple Bloom sniffed the pot, and licked her lips expectantly. Sitting across from her brother, the filly started talking about this and that. Macintosh was only half listening, giving the occasional Eeyup or Nope as the need arose. They ate slowly, letting the chat ride out. Applejack came in about an hour later, shining with a layer of sweat and a face rosy from exertion.
"Whew! Ah think that'll do fer now. Took care of the main orchard, there's a few round the edges Ah mighta skipped, but Rarity wanted to get me fitted, and Ah rather git that outta the way quickly. Ah'll see to em when Ah git home. Sorry to miss breakfast, but no time. Come on Apple Bloom, Ah'm sure Sweetie Belle would wanna play while her sister's busy."
With that, the two ran out to get their errands out of the way. Macintosh was left alone once more, with nothing much to do. He smiled to himself, chuckling. Another day off eh? Better make the most of it.
The stallion set about making a picnic lunch for three, though he only planned on inviting Fluttershy. No sense in going into it unprepared. Someone might come along, and it'd only be neighborly to offer them some. Besides, she'll probably have a bit of a craving about her anyway. He heated a can of tomato soup, then poured it into a thermos. After a moments thought, he also grabbed the remaining coffee, and heated some hot chocolate as well. A few cold sandwiches, and everything was set. A thick blanket padded it from the top and Mac began the hike to Fluttershy's, basket in his teeth.
He'd just passed the town center when a certain blue unicorn landed in front of him, covered in soot and tail steaming in the snow. Trixie coughed, a puff of smoke escaping the poor mare's mouth. Macintosh spoke around the handle.
"You OK, Miss Trixie?"
The performer gathered what remaining dignity she had and put out the smoldering hair with a blob of snow.
"Oh, Trixie is just marvelous. Never mind the fact she was launch halfway across town because SOMEPONY mixed my firework's black powder into my smoke-bombs!"
Trixie snorted in annoyance as Twilight came running up, carrying a first aid kit. The two stared at each other for a moment, Trixie still fuming, both literally and metaphorically, before breaking down into giggles. Trixie heaved a sigh and let herself be tended to as Macintosh set down the basket.
"So, begging your pardon since it's none of my business, but why are you fiddling around with the bombs?"
"I, that is, The Great and Powerful Trixie, while very happy here, am still a performer. I refuse to go into early retirement, simply because I now have the funds to do so. Ursa Major Problems is only the beginning of my great legacy, of that, you can be certain! It's work better with a slightly more competent assistant however..."
Twilight gave a sudden nudge to the magician, who landed on her back in the slush. The student of Celestia clicked her tongue at the other mare.
"Well, if she labeled the bottles with something more descriptive than "Bang" and "Boom" there wouldn't be the issue. Say, what are you doing with the basket big Mac?"
"Oh, it's been a bit since me and Fluttershy had a little romantic moment, so I made up a picnic lunch. Hot soup, drinks, and sandwiches. Figured we'd go to the pond, pretty year round."
"Ah, well, careful. Pinkie Pie and a few others are down there skating. It can get pretty hectic out there on the ice. And I think Dash and Gilda were trying to set up a hockey game. So, you should have some entertainment."
Trixie picked herself up from the half-melted ice, soot, and dirt. Growling in mock angry, she tossed a snowball into Twilight's face.
"Hey!"
"Oh, you're gonna get worse than that once we get home... but right now, I'm cold, wet, and filthy, let's go wash up. You look a bit dirty as well, so you can join in the bath."
Twilight blushed deeply, looking from Trixie to Macintosh.
"Don't talk like that in front of our friends, it's embarrassing. That sort of talk is... private."
"Oh-ho. My dear Twilight, I meant it as innocently as possible. It seems you're the one with impure thoughts. Well, have a pleasant day my good stallion."
"Uh, bye..."
Macintosh shook his head as the two unicorns headed back to the library, bickering lightheartedly. I still don't know why they're together, but they seem to like each other fine. None of my business to know the whys and wherefores.
Macintosh finally reached the little shack, and to his surprise, Devastating Gusts' chariot was there. The two hired goons let him in without much comment, though he doubted if they were even allowed to bar his way. Stepping inside, he saw the father and daughter chatting animatedly in Istallion, though it stopped the instant he came in.
"Oh, Big Macintosh! I'm sorry, I never heard you knock. Father decided to come by for another visit."
The stout stallion billowed out a cloud of cigar smoke, winking at the farmpony.
"Business slowing down with Winter coming, eh figlio?"
Fluttershy gasped at the word, then hugged her Father. Macintosh laughed nervously, setting down the basket.
"I was hoping for a afternoon alone, a picnic lunch while the weather was still decent. But um, what did that word mean to make her so happy?"
Fluttershy blushed and looked down at the floor.
"It, um, it means "son" Big Macintosh. Is it alright if he calls you that? It might be a bit soon, I'd understand..."
"No, it's an honor, er, Papà."
Gusts waved it off, smirking.
"Eh, fuhget about it. I told ya already, you're family now. Papà takes care of his bambinos. Now, you said lunch eh? Good, we just got back from that... that... ugh. No words for it."
Macintosh blinked, a little confused. Fluttershy sighed.
"We went to the restaurant that Rarity has been visiting lately. It was... good."
"GOOD?"
Her father exploded into a stream of words Big Macintosh could not understand, but felt that if he could, and his sisters were present, he'd be covering their ears.
"Ok, sugarcube, what was wrong?"
"Well... the antipasto was generic cheddar cheese, and other poor substitutes, the primo was prepackaged gnocchi and they didn't even cook it properly. The secondo was equally poor, Polenta should NEVER be that sweet unless you're using at breakfast. The mushrooms were rinsed instead of brushed, so they were watery and on the whole barely edible. And the dolce? The tiramasu tasted too heavily of the liquor, I was too afraid to eat much of it. But um, it's not THAT bad, if you're not looking for traditional..."
Gusts finally calmed down to reasonable levels by the time the rant had ended. He puffed the cigar once more, chewing the end to paste in his frustration.
"The little... little... cretino who puts THAT much olive oil on grilled vegetables is a hack! If I served something like that, in MY restaurant? I'd get cement horseshoes and start singing the Shoo-Be-Doos, just so the living won't bother with me anymore."
Macintosh, looked into the picnic basket, thinking.
"Well, how does tomato soup while watching a hockey game at the pond sound?"
Fluttershy sighed in relief as he father's mood brightened. Father and Daughter answered in perfect unison.
"That sounds... nice."
…
I'm trying to hold back, write more when I post, but it does mean at least a day or two between postings now. Am I better like this, or my old every day postings?
Kyle
