Apple season is special to me. Because there’s nothing like the smell of fresh apples simmering in a pot to be applesauce, especially the apples that get the cinnamon. The fall aroma wafts through the house filling it so full, that it must squeak out the kitchen door. The comforting scent flows out to greet me when I come in from doing chores.
I breathe in deep, ahhh heaven.
My pantry looks complete with all that golden, tan luscious freshness tucked away in Ball and Kerr Canning jars, amongst the summers reds, greens and yellows. I know it will taste marvelous on a 0 degree winter day, warmed. So I am not complaining about the abundance of beautiful apples, because next year I will want more, but it is November and apple season is over.
I’ve canned 30 pints of applesauce, made pies and put them in the freezer ready to bake. I’ve canned apples in light syrup, apples in heavy, and there is apple crisp in the oven. There are so many apples I have apples on the brain and apples ‘in’ my eyes. I even ordered a Country Apple Tea Set for Herbs & Things. Enough is enough
I’m trying to do dishes. But I can feel them leering at me from across the kitchen. Their stare pricks at the back of my neck. They look harmless enough sitting on my kitchen chair, but they are not. They are relentless in their quest. They are— more apples tucked neatly in a wicker basket, throwing Apple dagger looks as soon as I look at them.
I close my eyes, figuring it’s my imagination and tap my heels and recite out loud, I want no more apples, I want no more apples. First, I open the left eye a slit, then the right. Are they still leering? Yes, and they are bigger, redder and bolder in their wanting something done. They are yelling for me to do something, anything, before they go bad. But What? I rub my temples, to relieve my weary apple dumpling frenzy. I grab up the basket and start peeling.
My mind working as I peel. If I can’t think of something different I will can these too for apple crisp and pies to bake and worry about where to put the new canned jars of apples later.
Peel, Peel, the mind is working; the mind is working Peel Peel. Cider, Sweet cider, I have sweet cider in the frig…ahhhhh blink…an idea, APPLE BUTTER.
Peel Peel faster faster I have a goal.
I cook and stir —cook and stir, cook and stir— cook and stir.
Spoon, turn the mill, spoon, turn the mill, put it all back in the pot, cook and stir, cook at stir, add cinnamon and nutmeg…ahhhhh smells good.
Cook and stir, cook and stir. Don’t want it to burn.
Cook and Stir. I fill the water bath canner, cook and stir. The water boils.
I fill canning jars with hot steaming cinnamon and nutmeg pulped apples. It is nice and thick. Twist and tighten lids. Put the jars in their hot water bath. Wait ten minutes for the timer to go off.
Ding.
I take them out. One by one…pop, pop, the lids seal. The brown inside the jars is an inviting, soft, mouthwatering brown.
The apples are finally content, they are Apple Butter, until morning that is.
Barn chores are done, the dogs and have romped and played, it’s time for toast and coffee. Hmmmmmm what do I want on my toast—something sweet, something tasty, No, not jelly, no—not peanut butter.
I hear a whisper from behind…yoo-hoo…oh…yoo-hoo, I am waiting for you to try me. No I can’t I just canned you yesterday.
No really— you WANT to try me.
Ok
Snap, hiss, the sealed lid gives way, and the delightful aroma says hello to my waiting senses.
Spread, Spread…bite….chew…bite…ohhhhhhh….I did good… I did YUMMY-licious…GOOD.
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