The Joy of Scrumping

A house on the corner; under construction and with 24 hour security signs posted all around the walls. An apple tree; burdened with rosy red fruit, covered in ivy and going to waste in the backyard of said house. Two weeks of walking past said house, coveting those apples falling to ground with no one to eat them, no one to enjoy them. Enter temptation; I want those apples, I want to climb that wall and pick those apples. Begin forming a plan. 

The night finally falls. A crack team of five is assembled: the leader, ready to risk all to go over the wall and dressed in black underarmor and carrying a black backpack in which to stash the spoils; the henchmen, also dressed in black and willing to breach the wall as well; and three stooges, playing distraction and lookout roles. 

The team sets out and when the coast is finally clear, I hop the wall. Hiding behind the portapotty I watch the house, anxious for any sign of a security guard. When my companion joins me we make a dash over the muddy ground to the lone apple tree. She climbs in first and begins handing apples down. A few minutes in we switch places and I, with the longer reach, start picking the larger fruits and passing them on. A tense moment; a slow moving mini-van passes by; I duck and hold my breath, hoping to be hidden by the sparse branches. Twenty apples later we hop down and run back to the wall. We can hear the stooges still playing at their games. There has been no other cause for alarm, so we break cover for a moment and lob a few rotten apples over the wall at our companions. We listen as the splat the pavement and then scurry over ourselves, my backpack heavy with forbidden fruits. 

It's hard not to run back; adrenaline is coursing through all our veins. I am proud; I am satisfied. Those apples that have haunted me four times a day are now mine. 

Enter the kitchen; emptying the backpack we see just how big some of these apples are. How did they not fall off the branch, as large and ruby as they were? We taste; sweet, pure white flesh. 

A job well done. 

And that- is scrumping. Stealing fruit from someone else's trees.