One too many apples in the wheelbarrow
Is the glass half full or half empty? My lovely wife chides me for being pessimistic, always looking at the dark side of the matter or being quick to criticize. You know – the glass is half empty.
I don’t see it that way. I think I’m just an observant, honest and candid person. If someone is doing something stupid, I’ll comment on it. I’m pragmatic.
How did I get that way?
Trial and error.
Case in point. When I was a young boy, I collected coins. A cousin got me interested in it and helped me by teaching and explaining what to look for. In order to keep abreast of the current news, I wanted to subscribe to a weekly publication covering the world of numismatics.
However, I’d have to save my weekly allowance for several months in order to afford the subscription cost.
Approaching my father about my quandary (usually I asked him outright for money) he came up with a plan. The apple tree in the back yard was dropping its fruit all over the ground. It made it difficult when he cut grass. It was also a mess. If I would clean up the apples, he’d pay for the magazine subscription.
As most kids of that age, getting paid for work was an unfamiliar concept. Sure, I had chores I had to do each week to earn my allowance. But I’d get my 50 cents no matter what.
I bought into dad’s plan. (I should have known better because he once offered to loan me $1 if I’d pay him back a penny each day for a month and each day the payment would double – do the math and you’ll see what I mean).
Thinking I had it made (after all, how tough could it be to pick up a few apples) I got a rake and the wheelbarrow and pitched into the task. Very quickly I learned it wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.
The blades of grass around the bottom of the tree hadn’t been cut for a few weeks (hence the reason for apple cleaning duty) and were like tentacles clutching each round orb.
Some apples had already begun to rot, making it even more difficult to pick them up. It was like trying to scoop up applesauce with a hayfork.
Trudging back to the tool shed, I searched for another implement I could use in my labor. I found a coal shovel.
Between it and the rake and my bare hands, I spent a couple of hours hoisting every apple into the wheelbarrow. Apple after apple until the barrow was near overflowing.
Yes, I should have emptied it first and come back for another load. But who doesn’t try to jam that last piece of something into a bag or box or carry all the grocery bags in at the same time to avoid making more than one trip?
Dropping the last apple onto the load, I grabbed the barrow’s handles and lifted. It was very heavy but I figured if I could get enough momentum, I’d be OK.
Pushing it off toward the dumpsite, I gained speed. It was a little uphill but I knew I could do it.
The apple tree had other ideas.
The wheelbarrow’s single wheel caught a root sticking out of the ground that I did not see. Instead of rising over it, the root snagged the wheel, tipping the barrow and spilling most of its contents onto the ground.
I was careless. Anxious to get the job done after working so long at it, I didn’t pay attention to potential obstacles. It was my fault, although I almost cried.
Well, instead of refilling the barrow, I took what was left and dumped it, returning to gather the remainder of the apple pile.
I have had similar experiences in my life, each one contributing to the idea that the glass is half empty rather than half full.
So, I dispute that I am pessimistic. I’m realistic. After all, the way my apple-picking job ended up was with the wheelbarrow half full, right?
Although, that wasn’t very comforting at the time.
Have a good day.
James Pletcher Jr. is Herald-Standard business editor. He can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by e-mail at jpletcher@heraldstandard.com.