When I was a teenager, a group of us trimmed trees at an apple orchard. The owner was a 96-year-old woman, and she did it herself until she was 92. There was nothing feeble about her. She went up and down stepladders like they were nothing.
After the first year, she said her harvest was so good that she had to use ladders to hold up large branches because they were so heavy with apples. She invited us back each year for four years. Then we moved out of state. She paid well and was a delight to talk to.