Love in the Time of Climate Change by Brian Adams Page B

us and a big sky opened up in front. A Jacob’s Ladder moment when the rays of sunlight streamed through the gaps in the gorgeous clouds, looking like a stairway to heaven.
    We pulled the car over and gazed in wonder.
    A woman, looking somewhat bedraggled and harried, came out from the apple barn.
    â€œLook at the sky!” we gawked. “Absolutely beautiful.”
    â€œIt is,” she agreed. “It really is. I wish I could say the same about the orchard.”
    â€œThe orchard? What’s wrong with the orchard?”
    â€œNo apples,” the woman sighed.
    â€œWhat?” I said. “You’re all picked out already? But it’s so early!”
    â€œNo. I mean no apples. We got no apples this year. None.”
    We looked down the hill and onto the beautiful, greenapple trees below. Row after row as far as the eye could see. Healthy, vibrant trees, each one appleless. Not a single piece of fruit on any tree. Not a one.
    â€œOh my god!” Sarah gasped. “Why?”
    â€œMarch,” frowned the orchardist. “Remember those ten days of summer this last March? Ten days with temperatures over 80 degrees? Fooled the trees into blooming. And then,
bam!
A few freezing nights in April and the entire crop was gone. Nothing. Healthy trees. No apples.”
    Sarah looked like she was going to cry. Jesse put his hand lightly on her arm.
    â€œBummer,” he said.
    â€œYeah,” the orchard woman replied, her voice tired and sad. “Big time. No apples. We can only hope for a good crop next year, but with all the weird weather, I don’t know. I just don’t know. We can only hope.”
    No apples?
No apples?
    What kind of fucked-up metaphor was this? What a slap to the face to the Apple God himself. Jesus! If Johnny Appleseed were here right now he’d be crapping his pants!
    I looked out over the orchard and saw his ghost rising over the barren fruit trees, forlorn and foreboding. I could see him giving us the finger as he ascended Jacob’s Ladder. I could hear his voice booming out over the valley, startling squirrels and spooking crows and knocking the leaves off of fruitless trees: “Look around, man. Look what you’ve done! Do you get it now? Do you? NO FUCKING APPLES!”
    I pounded the steering wheel in frustration, accidentally honking the horn.
    â€œDon’t go off!” Jesse turned to me. “Please, I don’t want to hear it. Seriously dude, think it, don’t say it! I don’t want this trip to turn into one depressing drag!”
    â€œSay what?” Sarah asked.
    Jesse whispered in her ear.
    â€œJust what I was thinking,” she said. “You guys don’t like to talk about it?”
    â€œIt’s all we talk about,” Jesse groaned. “I was hoping for a little bit of a respite. Check the OCD at the door, at least for the afternoon.”
    I sighed, visualizing my breath, acknowledging the negative, pushing it right on through to the other side.
    Or at least trying to.
    But no apples!
    Jesus! Had it really come to this?
    â€œHow about miniature golf?” Jesse offered. “Not that either of you would stand a chance. I am somewhat of a master at the sport. Similar to what I am in so many sports.”
    â€œCrisp and robust?” Sarah said, giggling.
    â€œMore like full of shit!” I said, rolling my eyes and, relegating the climate demons to the trunk of the Prius.
    We waved to the orchard woman. I turned the car around, and we drove out of the appleless apple orchard.
    Next year there would be apples.
    There had to be. There just had to be.

14
    I T WAS THE MIDDLE OF O CTOBER . Another beautiful New England fall day with the sky blue, blue, blue and the leaves kissing the season goodbye (or was it hello?) with a symphony of color.
    The college had gotten its act together and, however long overdue, finally entered the solar age by finishing construction on a 100-kilowatt photovoltaic array