teach me to hope: apple moon time

30 August 2009

apple moon time

August is a month for feasting. All things that were in bloom in May are now coming into fruition. It's time for canning, jellying, baking. . . and eating. The apple trees that stand at the end of my garden are almost folding, collapsing under the weight of the fruit on their branches.

The birds haven't discovered the fruit yet (or perhaps it isn't ripe enough) but before long they will come and it will be hard to find an apple without a few bites out of it. Not that I mind the birds taking their share, there is certainly more than enough to go around.

Last week I tried my hand at making cold pressed apple juice. Unknown to me, an apple/sausage press made of cast iron has been resting in the corner of our barn. The press belonged to my grandmother, Arlene. We inherited it when she passed, and it has sat forgotten for years.

Not this summer.

My dad and I pulled it out, scrubbed it down, fixed it to a table out in the milk house, and set to work. I harvested apples from all around the yard. We have six different types, the names of which escape me.

All I can tell you is that the tree on the far end of the yard, the one with apples the color of pomegranate seeds, has fruit that tastes like ambrosia. Sweet and spicy with a sharp tang at the end. This tasting of apples has become an art for me . . . like sampling fine wine.

I think we used ten, five gallon buckets of apples to get seven quarts of juice. My dad said his arm felt like it was going to fall off from the effort it took to turn the crank on the fruit press. That's a lot of work for 100% pure, organic, cold-pressed apple juice. My mother and I sealed the juice in jars and set them in a hot water bath.