Apple Pickin Time
Near the road back home in Apsey Brook, on Uncle Luther’s Land (I guess Carol’s? Meghan’s? now, well thats irrelevant :)) is Dad’s apple tree. Its Dad’s because his grandmother gave it to him, so its a little bit old now.
I’ve not had an apple from it since I moved here I don’t think, but my mouth waters now just remembering them. Around this time of year, probably a little later if you liked them ripe, was time to start picking the apples. I preferred them a little unripe, and still green, they tasted pretty much like Granny Smith‘s then. Later when they got yellower and some frost got into them, they got a little mushier, and more like a Golden Delicious, not my favorite. And in general not most others either, as the old folks would say they were only fit for apple sauce and pie then.
The tree brings back a lot of memories too. I remember taking a book from the bookmobile and laying back on the big branches reading for hours on end while leisurely eating apples. I also remember hundreds of friends and strangers coming to the door looking to buy a bag. Some years there were soooo many it seemed there was no end. Others there were less, but usually there were tons.
I remember one year, I sooooo wanted a pair of $200 hiking boots from Roses Plumbing in Clarenville (yeah, shoes, at a plumbing store… ). I sold enough apples a two dollars a CO-OP bag (our major supermarket) bag full to buy those boots. And those weren’t like today’s bags, there were soooo many apples stuffed in them! Plus on top of that we gave plenty away to friends and family and had more than enough for ourselves. Shame of it all is Mom accidentally threw those boots away a year or so later!
Of course everyone made pies, and apple sauce, and baked apples for dessert. But my favorite was to eat them raw, or to have moms green apple and green tomato pickles (like a chow chow for the non-newfoundlanders). I love those things so much, don’t want a lot, but it adds such a taste to the traditional Sunday supper cold plate.
Of course there are other memories too. The tree was near a huge bed of wild roses. Those things smell terrific but there’s no way to control them. We’d try to trim them back and keep them somewhat under control, but they also did help provide a barrier to the thieves. Yes, crime was rampant back in those days, and likely still today. At least the crime of young people robbing apple trees, its a rite of passage! Even with my own tree, I’ve participated in this rite. Something we all did. In earlier times, you could get an ass load of salt for your troubles. Some of the older folks would make their own shotgun shells filled with coarse fisherman’s salt and shoot those heinous robbers.
I never did it often, nor got caught (at least that I remember) but I did scare quite a few people out of our tree. The one time I remember best was when Dad and I scared Jason Bailey out of the tree, and he jumped…. right into the rose bushes. I can still see dad now, bent double from laughing so hard as Jason was scratched to pieces in those old trees. I don’t know if he ever came back to steal some again, but I am pretty sure he still remembers that night!
- What good is an apple tree if you don’t pick the fruit? (domermom.com)
Raised in outport Newfoundland in a town of 65 people, I pursued a post secondary diploma in Information Technology right out of High School.
I’ve always been a geek at heart, but yet I love the rural life I grew up with. Fishing, hunting, camping and the great outdoors are still loves of mine, even if I don’t pursue them as often as I once did. Sports were always a big part of our lives, and I played many (badly) and loved them all.
Apple Pickin Time
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Some views of Halifax, and an Intro from Me