Apples are the quintessential autumnal symbol, don’t you think? In our house we love apples; my son in particular has an apple a day- it’s his very favorite quiet time snack. It pairs best with a fresh book from the library I’m told.
Both of my parents grew up in apple country, on the eastern side of the state where the dry (yes, some parts of Washington’s are very dry!) climate yields some of the best apples in the world. So, I guess you could say, apples have been a staple of my life for as long as I’ve been around. I wouldn’t have it any other way and I’m happy to have my children be involved in one of the most time honored traditions in our family- apple pressing!
A few weekends ago we packed up our crew and headed to eastern Washington for a long weekend at my parents place where we cranked through a whole crate of gala apples in one afternoon which yielded about 52 gallons of fresh cider. There is nothing like the taste of that thick, sweet cider poured right from the sticky, dripping cider press. The stuff you see in the store pales in comparison! No, literally; fresh pressed cider is a dark brown, not yellow-y colored like store bought. C and A built up great anticipation for cidering this year because, “we are able to help more this time mom, because we are big now!” Help they did! Between washing apples, chopping them, and feeding them into the grinders, collectively they put in several hours worth of work. They must get that work ethic from their father, as I can confidently say that at their age I was generally focused more on the tasting portion of the job.
The eastern side of the state gets so much more sunshine than the west side. Basking in clear days was a welcome break from the torrential downpours we’ve been having here. To help remember that sunshine we’ve got several gallons of cider fermenting on the counter which are turning a lovely amber color, reminiscent of the cloud free gloaming at my parents house. The rest of our share is frozen, destined for apple cider caramels and summer time popsicles.
I’m so grateful my children will have fond memories participating in such a sacred tradition. What a gift to be able to say they pressed apples into delicious cider with their parents, grandparents, and great grandparents all at one time! My hope is that whenever they bite into a fresh apple, smell fragrant cider, or feel the wind blowing autumn leaves, that they feel the love of all of those who have kept the cidering tradition alive for them. I know I certainly do.
