I am by default a depressed and jaded person.
Even without following the news (which I don’t, and therefore I’m not up to date on the latest climate change news) I still bare witness to the homogenization, monetization, or flat-out death of cultures that I love. From species extinctions, to the exploitation of human heritages, even to the commoditization of personal relationships (ahem, social media) it seems like everything in this world has become contorted and fast-tracked for this economy. And those things I love must also fit within that business model of continuous growth and large-scale efficiency lest they too die by the roadside.
Cider drives on this road too now. You might even say it’s in the left lane. As the industry looks to homogenize itself in every aspect -from its’ language (which is used to sum-up the vast worlds each product represents), to the cloning of a select few “cider varieties” which will make it easier to farm and market apples on a mass-scale -I see it happening in my little corner of the world too. And I get depressed and jaded.
But every few years in May something miraculous happens. Thousands and thousands of wild apples seem to emerge out of the forest waving victory flags (a head full of blossoms) as if to yell to us as we drive by, “Hey! We’re not dead yet!”
These are trees, mind you, that even I -a person obsessed with wild apple trees going on a quarter century -don’t usually notice either. Where the hell did they come from? As magical as the aurora borealis is, this brief and rare occurrence restores my faith in this world. They remind me that that things can prosper in the shadows. Apples, cider, businesses and human cultures can still grow organically.
