Apple Trees and Springtime

The only apple tree I ever remember my family having was an old crab apple tree that we finally cut down... It died or something, I don't remember. But I do remember picking  the little hard green apples and roasting them over the fire. I'd always burn my tongue. But that was what, ten years ago? It's time for another one.
  And it's time for a little pair of green rubber boots and an old dishpan for a boat.
It's time for doll houses in the woods and ittybitty houses made of sticks and stones at the roots of a big oak tree.
It's time for walks through the woods picking blackberries and getting lost.
It's time to crack open an acorn and talk an unsuspecting friend into tasting it.
And to pull all the legs off a grandaddy long-legs spider.
It's time to make mud pies and run screaming from your brother while he chases you with earthworms...
It's time to pick dandelions by the hand full and give them to your mom.
It's time to gather arm fulls of daisies and talk your older sister into making a daisy chain for you.
And to climb the pine tree you've been forbidden to climb, then use half of moms hairspray to get the pitch off of your hands and feet...
It's time to pick cockle burrs out of your dress skirt and braid, and poke grass down ants hills.
Springtime is a time to be five years old again.