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Mountain children were a hearty bunch. I can attest to it. We swallowed more pond water from the swimming hole and inadvertently downed more bugs during evening firefly chases than the average kid. We were immune to ordinary germs. Had to be, as the barnyard and the fields were our playground.
I remember one particular outdoor treat that my brothers and I loved: salty apples. Picked straight from the tree, green mountain apples held a pucker that could curl your tongue. But we learned that sprinkling on salt was a tasty way to cut the tang. The salt blocks in my daddy's pasture were set off the ground on stands with open bottoms. Since the cows licked off the tops of the blocks, my brothers and I saw no harm in rubbing our apples on the undersides. We got salty apples without having to stop playing and run all the way back to the house for a shaker!
(c) 2005,