Apple Pickin' Time

Going off to the orchard was like a family outing back when we lived in simpler times. It was a seventy-acre peach and apple orchard in southeastern Ohio, near the little village of Ilesboro, Ohio. I thought it was a great adventure but then any outing was an adventure back then. We didn't often leave the farm. My uncle did the driving since my grandmother didn't drive. We went to the orchard riding in a red 1948 Dodge truck. It seemed like it took a very long time to get there because of all the hills and curves on State Route 93 South. People didn't make a habit of driving fast back then. My grandmother thought that 30 miles per hour was too fast. She would frequently order my uncle to slow down when approaching the curves. 

I remember apples packed in bushel baskets but my brother remembers a bushel of apples being packed in large sacks. I guess that might depend on what orchard you went to as to using baskets or sacks. A bushel of apples weighs about 48 pounds so I reasoned that a sack of apples would be like carrying a sack of potatoes. I asked my brother how much a bushel of apples cost in the 1950's and he thought it was about $3.00. There was a variety of apples back then...Winesap, Jonathan, and Red Delicious were the most common. There are so many varieties of apples that you would need to become an apple connoisseur to know which is the best.

Apples are ready to pick in September and all apples must be hand picked to prevent bruising. I think my younger brother came along with us that day. He was the reason my grandmother said, "Don't shake the tree branches!" The brother who liked to tease and ask a million questions. The one who was always inquisitive and testing out everything. I didn't know back then that apples had to be gently twisted off the branches.

Some orchards have pre-picked apples or pick-your-own apples. My older brother tells me that this particular orchard had pre-picked apples but I remember standing in the orchard under the apples trees looking up at red apples dangling from the branches. My uncle drove the truck into the orchard and placed a few bushel baskets of apples into the back of the truck. Maybe I imagined that, however, that picture of the apple orchard is stuck in my brain.

Apples can be prepared many ways...baked, fried, dried, snacks, apple butter, applesauce, apple jelly, pies, apple cider, apple juice, cobbler, and vinegar. Did I forget anything? Oh, yes...caramel apples. My grandmother made applesauce, apple jelly, apple butter, apple pies, and canned many quarts of apples for the winter.

My grandmother had her work cut out for her when she got home. I can still see her sitting in the kitchen peeling a whole apple in one long, curled strip. I thought that was amazing. I still can't peel an apple in one long strip. She and my mother sat paring apples and cutting them into slices for canning. How my heart aches for the comforting aroma and taste of apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg  coming from one of her homemade hot bubbling pies. I find comfort and peace when I look back on those days. 

Our neighbor had an  apple orchard. My oldest brother said he picked apples for our neighbor. Mr. Funk had a day job so he hired my brother to do chores on the farm while he was at work. Picking apples and taking them to one of the orchards that had a cider mill  was one of my brother's jobs. He drove the neighbor's truck to the orchard and waited there until the whole process of squeezing juice from the apples was done. The apple cider was put in glass gallon jugs.  The end product was about 30 or 40 gallons of soft apple cider. It takes about 40 apples to make 1 gallon of cider. Mr. Funk would then sell the apple cider at his farm. I'm sure it was non-alcoholic cider.

Some folks spike the apple cider with bourbon or rum during the holidays which then becomes hard apple cider.  I would never do that. Cheers! 



     



  

Going Hunting

Back in the day when I was growing up going hunting was a favorite pastime for the men in my family.  Rifles and shotguns have been in my family for generations, so I was accustom to the men going hunting. When my uncles,cousins and brothers gathered at the farm it wasn't a big deal.  However, I do recall my grandmother giving the men strong warning about being careless with those guns before they set out. Now remember, some of these guys had been in World War II and the Korean War. I guess a mother never quits worrying about her kids. 

It was a different world then.  My brothers had pocket knives, hunting knives, rifles, shotguns, and BB guns. I'm sure someone taught them about safety, how to handle and clean their guns.  

The guys set out with their hunting license displayed on the middle of the back of their coats, rifles in hand, plenty of ammunition, hunting knives, and the trusted rabbit dog with them. Sometimes some of the others brought their dogs along. So, it was off to the grassy, brushy areas, fence rows, fields and thickets. It wasn't long until the beagle picked up a scent and we could hear him off in the distance trailing a rabbit.

 Rabbit hunting is an adventure in the woods, although I never thought of it that way. It wasn't until I started writing this article that I even wondered about how fast a rabbit can run. I've found several different answers to that question.  Twenty-five miles per hour seems pretty fast to me but then I guess they do have to out run those dogs.

My brother reported to me that he still has his 12 gauge, Mossberg shotgun as well as his Stevens .22 single shot rifle. He said he bought his .22 rifle from our local Firestone Store where he was able to make payments on it.

All my questions finally jogged his brain, so I was quite surprised when he proceeded to tell me a funny story. It seems that one of his teenage friends, named Paul, invited him to go coon hunting. His friend picked him up in a 1949 black Ford coupe.  They ended up driving down an old road that ran alongside the railroad tracks where open fields were. Sometimes the farmers planted corn in these fields. For some reason my brother's friend decided to turn the car around but he didn't want to drive on down the road where there was plenty of space to turn around. He backed the car over the railroad tracks where it got stuck, consequently there they sat not knowing what to do or how to budge the car off the tracks. I could picture them trying to push it over the tracks before they decided to go get help. Desperate to get the car moved off the tracks they ran to get help but when they arrived back to the car a train was fast approaching. My brother said they just got back in time to see the train hit the car, knocking it off the tracks, and totally destroying it. 

Then, there are always those stories of the dogs not coming back because they were off on the trail, running for miles, and getting lost in the big woods. All the stories I've been told had happy endings where the dogs came home or someone found them.

I never went hunting but I did target practice at the neighbor's place. I never did tell my mother or my grandmother about that. The words of my grandmother, "You better act like a lady."