We had walked through miles of orchard
    at its peak of bloom,

Guided by one who had grown up with apple trees.
His father, and his father's father before him,

Had settled on these heights, just to turn limestone
steeps to orchard room.

He led us back toward his house. "My land extends from
there. From there beyond to the hollow. Over on

the other mountain top, Dad's land begins.
If you think this land's steep . . . Dad's still experimenting.
He's eighty."

"Did you ever see so many stones?" his wife remarked.
"I think they set the trees in the mountain's very bones.
And yet they grow."

"You wouldn't think a woman could grieve over an apple tree
Now would you, but my wife can. . . . 

Where we stand we'll clear ten acres. We'll have to blast
to set new trees in here."