The back yard apple trees are throwing down their apples. When I stepped into our down-hill-neighbors home the other evening, a warm spicy smell greeted me at the door. Bonnie was in her kitchen making applesauce. Shirley came by the other day, (to get some honey to send to Japan with an exchange student. Fun to think our honey will be enjoyed on the other side of the world). She scrutinized the little imperfect apples that I had in a basket by the door. I was embarrassed by her inspection but she inspired me by saying they are nicer than the ones she is putting up.
So, contrary to popular opinion some of us are in cahoots. We believe these backyard apples are worth saving because the bad spots can be cut out and the good parts can create something organic and fresh. I will take a few wormholes to cut around over eating chemical residues any day.
The apple tree that lays claim to us, on our stead, is behind the house and past the clothesline. It is very old, twisted and I have no idea what variety it is. I told my Grandma about it when we first moved in. Its apples are red on one side and gold/green on the other. (I have since found out that this color variation is due to the absence of pruning.) From my description she said it sounded just like the apple tree she harvested from when she was a young girl.
Grandma came out one day when my apples were ripe, walked her wooden cane to the tree and there her beautiful, worn face glowed with a smile when she saw them. Stooping over to pick up one that had recently plunked to the ground, she cleaned it off by rubbing it on her purple/blue/red flowered skirt, (she always wore purple, blue and red). She ceremonially bit into the red side, “Yes!” she said, “these are the ones!” I have loved my little imperfect apples ever since. They are, The Ones!