Eating apples #1

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I have just peeled an apple with a knife, paring the skin away in one piece, until it fell away, the shape of the apple not quite lost in the spiral of peel.

I felt as I peeled that it was a properly grown up thing to do – because it took a sharp knife and a steady hand; and because it was what dad would do, with his short bladed grafting knife, flattened at the end to open the slit bark and insert the cutting.

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This was the knife – razor like and lethal – that I knew I was never to touch.

All my life since, apple peeling has retained the sense of something tricky, possibly dangerous. To peel the skin whole, a feat, a craft, a mark of adulthood.

The childish pleasure of eating the peelings hasn’t left me either.

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Eating apples #1

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