April 7th, 1001 Domina Solaria

On the other side of the continent, in the rural farming town of Ponyville, in the main sorting barn of Sweet Apple Acres, sits a bleary-eyed colt and a much larger red stallion. Pomarbo rubs a brown hoof against his face, wishing the physical stimulation would wake him up where his rushed breakfast of apples and wheat bread did not. It’s not that he hates mornings like his older sister Applebaum, who sometimes needs a second bucket of water splashed in her face. Or loves them like Hedge, who feeds the rooster before he wakes up. Mornings just… aren’t terribly important.

He tries again to concentrate on the problem Uncle Big Mac posed him. In theory, it’s simple. They have some number of order forms, neatly laid out on the table. Each order needs some number of apples. Some apple trees are ripe while others ain’t. Which trees do you harvest to fill your orders?

In practice? It is anything but simple. And he loves that.

He has a map of the orchards, a giant grid showing all their trees with annotations in pencil or charcoal or whatever happened to be on hoof at the time. Some - well, most - of the notes are out of date, and you just have to remember which ones are still good. They fill the margins, and the spaces in between groups of trees, and absolutely anywhere you could think to write except the table underneath. They tell a story of how every tree is doing and has done: which ones are yielding less from pests, which ones are doing better and whose seeds should be planted elsewhere, which ones should be uprooted and turned into crates.

The map is a closely guarded secret, but only from Twilight Sparkle. Because if she saw it? There is an extremely high probability that she would start Twilighting and do her absolute best to fix a problem that isn’t there. Probably with an excess of color-coded sticky notes and matching filing system. It’s the same reason Daddy doesn’t let her in his weather office any more, which irks her to no end.

“Remember, Po,” Big Mac gently encourages as Pomarbo purses his muzzle and stares at the page. “Sometimes it helps to write down the steps.”

“Ah know,” Pomarbo fumbles out, dragging the order forms closer. His mind keeps wandering, thinking about what happened yesterday, and that made it hard to sleep last night. Most days he could keep all the numbers straight in his head, of how many Red Delicious they needed, how many Granny Smiths. He dutifully totals each up, jotting the number on the back of an old order form. That part isn’t hard, it’s picking a path through the orchards that minimizes travel and doesn’t over- or under- load the cart.

He growls as he studies the map. No quick solutions jump out at him, which means he’ll need to work piecemeal. Or have a lot of excess harvest, which means crating the apples for an extra day or two. And Granny Smith - really Great-Granny Smith, but she looks at you funny if you call her that - strongly dislikes selling anything Sweet Apple Acres that isn’t as premium as it could be.

“Keep at it,” Big Mac says with his friendly, carefree smile. “You can do it.”

“Ah am,” Pomarbo groans, setting down his pencil to rub at his temples. “It’s easier when Daddy’s doin’ his weathercraftin’.”

“Eeyup,” Big Mac says, pausing as he taps his chin. “That’s ‘cause your sire ain’t makin’ you do all the work. He’s helpin’ ya when ya get stuck. Unlike me.” He proudly taps a hoof against his yoked chest. “Ah’m makin’ sure it sticks by not helpin’. ‘Cause someday you’ll be the one standin’ where Ah am, and there won’t be nopony to hold your hoof.”

“...Eeyup,” Pomarbo concedes with a sigh. But not just because it’s a grim reminder that someday Big Mac will be as old and frail as Granny Smith, unable to help out as much as he does now. But because the other prime harvesting member of their family is markedly absent. Big Mac returned from Canterlot yesterday - not that he minded that at all. The apples didn’t stop on account’a some tragedy, so neither could the Apples.

“H-hey, Big Mac?” Pomarbo asks, chancing a peek from the map.

“Eeyup?” Big Mac grunts, having started going through his own problem of picking McIntosh and Red Delicious trees for the upcoming cider season.

Pomarbo stares at his uncle with wide, trembling eyes, the corners just starting to wet. “Y-ya don’t think anythin’ bad is gonna happen to Applejack, do ya?”

Big Mac drops down to ponyloaf next to Pomarbo, but the massive earth pony still dwarfs the three-year-old colt. He easily reaches a foreleg all the way around, hugging him tight. “Your dam is strong,” he says, hoof getting lost as he ruffles the green streaks in the colt’s red mane. “She’s so strong, she’s there supportin’ the Princesses. So don’t ya worry, they’ll be back ‘fore ya know it.”

“Eeyup,” Pomarbo echoes with a bit of a moan. He maneuvers his way around the well-worn yoke to rest his head against the thick, muscled barrel. “Ah still miss her.”

“Eeyup. We all do.” Big Mac laughs, ribbing the much smaller pony with a gentle nudge and twinkling smirk. “Hay, she’s probably on her way home right now!”

Pomarbo loves the gentle rumble of his uncle’s chuckle, and even the worried tremble that you couldn’t detect unless you’d heard the stoic stallion laugh before. He snuggles even closer, sniffling despite himself.

“Ah remember,” Big Mac continues with a forlorn twinkle in his eye, staring off into the distance. “There'd be times when Applejack would haf’ta leave on an all-day pie delivery out to the swamps. Ah’d be workin’ the fields, or the orchards, and forget where she was for just a moment. Ah’d be worried stiff, so bad Ah could barely even pull a plow. Even after Ah remembered where she was, and what she was doin’, that didn’t stop me from wishin’ she was at mah side. But she came home, every time, and me worryin’ didn’t make her any safer.”

“Eeyup.” Pomarbo sighs, as deep as a young colt can. He glances outside at the morning sun, just starting to peek out from the horizon and staining the sky with brilliant reds, then up at his uncle. “Do…”

Big Mac glances down at the colt at his side, curious.

Pomarbo gulps nervously. “Do ya ever wish ya had somepony... other than Applejack at your side?”

Big Mac goes silent, suddenly finding the wall considerably more interesting than it has any right to be.

“Sorry,” Pomarbo apologizes, his head bowing. “Ah didn’t mean ta pry.”

“No, it ain’t that,” Big Mac says, again losing his hoof in the mane such a similar color to his coat. He grins mischievously. “Ah imagine you’re just askin’ ‘cause you got somefilly you’re a mite curious about yourself.”

Pomarbo stares blankly at his uncle. “Huh?”

“Ya know,” Big Mac says, thoughts of teasing his nephew dissipating as he registers the baffled expression. “Filthy Rich’s filly. Weren’t ya hangin’ out with her all’a yesterday?”

“Eeyup,” Pomarbo answers, still dumbfounded. “We got the walkways up.” His face suddenly lights up with a bright smile. “We used the pattern Ah drew, too!”

Big Mac can only watch with a bemused expression as Pomarbo leaps from his hooves to grab a spare piece of paper and a drafting pencil. The sketch materializes quickly, a hexagonal room with doors labeled at the center of every wall. Then a second hexagon, inscribed inside the first and running from each door to their adjacent doors, with lines leading from each door to the center.

“Impressive,” Big Mac says as Pomarbo begins filling in details like the distance from each door to the next and the size of the room. His smile doesn’t fade. “And how was it workin’ with Miss Tiara?”

“DT?” Pomarbo ponders for a second, then shrugs. “Was fine, Ah guess. She’s real good at gettin’ ponies to do what she wants.” He shudders. “Scary good. Like, Apple Bloom kept wantin’ to bring in more crates of apples, and Scoots kept buildin’ ramps with ‘em. So she got ‘em decoratin’ the walkways so you could see ‘em when you’re walkin’ down.”

“And?” Big Mac prompts, though he gets nothing in return. “Does she make ya want to keep workin’ with her?”

“Um,” Pomarbo stalls, shrugging again. “Sure? Ah guess Ah would.” He goes back to his sketch, then after a moment remarks, “She smells nice.”

“Heh,” Big Mac chuckles, going back to the map and the rows and rows of apple trees. “S’important.” He taps at the order sheets. “Now, back to work.”

“Eeyup,” Pomarbo answers, again putting his muzzle to the grindstone. After a few seconds’ thought he looks back up with a cheeky grin. “Ya never answered mah question.”

A nervous look comes over Big Mac as he thinks back to what other mares he might like keeping him company on the farm. “Oh, well, um-”

A light knock comes at the door.

“Already!?” exclaims Pomarbo, scrambling away from the table and racing to the door. “Ah knew it!”

Big Mac breathes a heavy sigh of relief, wiping away a bead of sweat.

Pomarbo flings open the door with a wide smile, grinning up at-

A light pink young mare stands in the doorway, her purple mane styled to best display the pure white streak and blue tiara. Her tail is similarly fashioned, though in a wavy ponytail. She has a light sheen across her coat, reflecting the morning light with little sparkles.

“Oh,” he states, disappointed. “You’re not Applejack.”

Diamond Tiara’s confident smile disappears as he goes to shut the door in her face. “Wait!” she calls, sticking her hoof in the way and blocking it. She forces her smile back as he tentatively opens the door back up, revealing Silver Spoon standing next to her.

“Silver Spoon just got back from helping Daddy in Canterlot,” Diamond Tiara explains, motioning to her sister. “And we were wondering if you were busy?”

The silver young mare dips her face to peer over her blue-rimmed glasses at the colt, then gives Diamond Tiara a pointed look.

“Um,” Pomarbo says, glancing back at the table with the day’s routes still waiting to be planned. “Ah’d sure like to, but right now, Ah’m-”

“Eenope,” Big Mac interrupts as he trots over, that mischievous smile of his having returned. “Don’t worry ‘bout finishin’ those up. Y’all just run along, now, an’ have fun. But not too much fun.”

“But Uncle Big Mac,” Pomarbo says with just the slightest hint of a whine. “Ah’ve gotta finish up those routes!”

Big Mac glances between Pomarbo and Diamond Tiara, then at Silver Spoon. He manages to hold in his sigh, vowing to explain to the colt that there are more important things in life than saving them a trip during harvest.

“It’s quite alright, Mister McIntosh,” Diamond Tiara says as she lets herself in. She looks around at the empty crates lining the walls of the barn, waiting to be filled. “We don’t mind waiting. I’ve always been fascinated by what y’all do here. It must take a lot of hard work to harvest so many apples!”

“Really,” Silver Spoon deadpans as she follows Diamond Tiara inside. She stares at her sister when Diamond Tiara turns her head and stretches her smile a little wider. “Always?”

“Oh?” Pomarbo says, shying away slightly. He looks at Big Mac for help, but the stallion has already busied himself with his own work. He catches a glimpse of a wink, gulping as he leads Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon to his table and map. “Ah mean, it does. Ya wanna, um, take a look?”

“Sure!” Diamond Tiara happily exclaims, trotting alongside him. Silver Spoon follows at a distance.

“Well, this is it,” Pomarbo says as he waves a hoof over the map. He motions at the order forms showing what apples they need to harvest that day. “Helps plan what work we’re gonna do.”

“Daddy has something like this, except his is less visual and more of a spreadsheet,” Diamond Tiara explains, her voice rising haughtily like her dam’s before she tamps it back to a more pleasant tone. “N-not that your method doesn’t work for you!” She flutters her eyelashes, then reaches over to tap one of the trees, managing to brush against Pomarbo’s hoof while doing so. “And what is that?”

“A-an apple tree.” Pomarbo leans forward, squinting to make out the small text. He grunts at himself; he should have this memorized! “McIntosh, so if Dam gets back then we’ll get a head start on our cider harvest.”

“I love cider,” Diamond Tiara purrs lasciviously, snuggling a little closer. On the other side, a good body length away and certainly not touching the colt, Silver Spoon rolls her eyes.

Next Chapter: Ch. 56 - Cheap Construction, Part Two Estimated time remaining: 22 Hours, 56 Minutes