{{applejack pov}}

I’d been up since four, same as every festival day, hauling crates of peaches and jugs of cider out the back of the truck before the sun had even decided to commit to rising. By the time the crowds started rolling in I already had sweat ringing my hat and my braid coming loose at the end, same as it always did by midmorning. Didn’t bother me none. I liked this kind of work — the kind where you could look at the end of the day and see exactly what you’d built. A stand standing. A line of folks waiting on cider. People walking off happier than they walked up.