Dreams and Thoughts - 1917

5 - Cherries and Strawberries

The air was quiet as they walked toward a farmhouse - a ruined one, at that. It would be a lie to say that Will and Blake weren't reminded of home when they approached the building. They both lived in the countryside, Blake on an orchard and Will on a farm.

A small pond ran through the farm, splitting a small orchard from the farmhouse itself. Will was ahead of Blake, stopping at what would have been the gate into the orchard to see all of the trees chopped down. "Jesus. They chopped them all down." He spoke softly to himself.

The trees had white blossoms on their ends, like flowers. They were so beautiful, which means the Germans weren't too far ahead of them. If they had been far ahead, the trees would have dead limbs.

"Cherries." Blake inspected one of the blossoms. "Lamberts."

He continued to walk through the orchard, looking at all the trees with subtle disappointment. "They might be dukes, hard to tell when they aren't in fruit."

"What's the difference?" Will asked in reply, softer as if the argument they had just gone through minutes before had been forgotten.

"Well people think there's one type, but there's lots of them -- Cuthberts, Queen Annes, Montmorency's. Sweet ones, sour ones..." Blake expressed his knowledge in cherry trees.

"How on Earth would you know this?"

"Mum's got an orchard, back home. Only a few trees. This time of year it looks like it's been snowing, blossom everywhere. And then in May, we have to pick them. Me and Joe. Takes the whole day." He mentioned his brother, who he so desperately wanted to get to and save from the coming slaughter. 

It were memories like these that reminded him how urgently he wanted this war to be over. How desperately he wanted to find his brother and keep him safe.

It reminded Will of home, Blake's story. Back home, instead of picking cherries, he'd spend a day every 2 months picking carrots in the summer as well as beets, onions, and garlic. Even sometimes Strawberries... they'd stain his hands for a week afterward.

The stains weren't much different than the ones he'd find himself having every time they'd return from going over the top.

Noticing Blake's homesickness, Will spoke once more. "So, these ones all goners?"

"Oh no, they'll grow again when the stones rot. You'll end up with more trees than before." Blake smiled lightly at the thought.

All things grew back. The next generation would, and in greater numbers. The few that survived this brothers war would come back to their homes and make a new generation that would, hopefully, bring promise and hope to the world.

Hopefully.

The reached the end of the small orchard and saw up ahead the farmhouse and a few other buildings. The two of them scanned the area in front of them; the pond sat in a small, miniature valley, with pens designed to hold animals left without tenants. A bridge went over the pond, which assured them of their way across.

"It looks abandoned." Blake spoke, looking at the farmhouse and noticing how its windows were all shot out.

"Let's hope so." Will replied anxiously, fixing his grip on his rifle.

"We have to make sure." The other Englishman noted.

The blonde nodded in response and took the lead, moving with great caution down the hill with his rifle raised. The water of the pond was murky, and he most definitely didn't want to drink that no matter how thirsty he was in that moment.

There was a very eerie atmosphere around the place, as if it were cursed. The buildings were dark with no lights within them, and the wind grazing the lush grass didn't do much but concern him even more.