7,000 pounds of apples @ Musea. It's SO Cider time.

When I think about autumn, I get a little period of time where my vision doesn't work so well and is misty and unfocused. I get 'Swooney' (is that a word?) and a little bit of a wisp of thought about the past. This has always been my favorite part of the year, but just the early part. I don't really like the after-mid-way part. I have my reasons. But suffice it to say, I love (x100) the early autumn when rich, ripe apples like the above come into our world here at Musea. This year, we had 7,000 pounds of apple goodness. We do not grow 3.5 tons of apples here, but we know who does, and he also knows that we have the press. So, a deal was struck.

Grape Equipment is doing double time.

These (the ones in the photo above) are gravenstien apples, a local favorite. Where I am from in West Virginia and Appalachia, generally, there are literally dozens, if not hundreds of varieties of apples that have been jealously guarded, served, cultivated, and harvested over the last couple hundred years. A friend recently laughed when I said that I was from 'Apple-achia.' This is no joke. Johnny Appleseed (aka John Chapman) was a real person and an astute arborist who brought apple cultivation right to our holler in them there flats where we could grow them. My mom sometimes called me that name when she was messing with me.

I remember every year, right after Octoberfest celebrations (we were not of German descent, but plenty in our area were, and they know how to throw a bash!), we would meet other families and friends at the apple press. We didn't have the resources to have our own press, so we shared one communally. It was quite an affair, with adults hiding the 'real' cider from the kids and everyone's mom yelling, "Keep your fingers outta there! Hey, Bob, watch him, will ya?"

Blankets were spread out on the grass for probably the last time of the year, and it's remarkable how well fresh cider goes with fried chicken. Let's be clear, it goes with anything, ever. I remember being surprised at how sticky I ended up and that my mother would mince at me about getting her car seat all 'gummy.'

We all shared. There was a par, meaning that you were required to bring a certain haul of apples with you. The par was usually about 100# or so, which is about 4 apple baskets worth.

Apple Baskets are called 'Pokes' where I am from.

If you didn't have that many, they would give you a partial share of the cider based on your contribution. Nobody went home without some. It was fair, it was simple, and it was easy. How I wish things were still this easy. My family never had a full ration, as we didn't have many trees. We were dairy people. So, it was known to happen from time to time that barters would be made, especially for that 'aged' cider that my dad hid in his coat. So if we had cheese and cream, we usually went home with more than our 'apples-in' share. My mom should have worked on the stock market, considering the way she would wrangle someone out of a pie, hoop cheese (fresh mozzarella), or butter. (We had the milk, but I was the butter churner, and I was not too keen about it. Thus, low butter on hand.)

So, when I think about the richness of the holiday season, I also find myself so incredibly grateful for you. Those of you who are receiving this are those who decided to part with some of your hard-earned money to help me offset the cost of producing and creating this. It allows me a great deal of artistic and creative freedom, and I cannot thank you enough. I am so grateful.

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See you tomorrow for a great post-holiday missive that I know will knock your socks off. (Or at least make you hungry!)

Have I mentioned lately that my beautiful wife and partner also has a Stack for your reading pleasure? and Well recommended reading and listening.

Chef