When I moved into my house, there were three trees in the backyard: two apples and one peach. Now, as a result of death, disease and harsh weather, I have one. The least desirable of the three. Apples of some red delicious-like variety with flesh that has all the charm and taste of wet paper pulp. I tried making applesauce from its fruit once, and the less said about that the better. This year, after last winter's record snowfall, the tree is producing fruit to beat the band. And all I can do is wait for it to drop, gather it, and put it in the container of yard waste at the curb.