It’s apple picking time in the Hudson Valley, and we were up to the task this weekend!! There is something so comforting about picking apples. I picked apples with my Mom and Papa, and knowing that they did it with their own parents, the simplicity of the everyday becomes a link to my own past. The sweet apple aroma that teases your senses compares to nothing else and belongs to autumn alone. The crunch of the first apple of the season and the trickle of juice on your chin is heaven on earth.
Erik and the Sweet Potatoes and I were headed to a dinner on Sunday and wanting to take “Apple Dabble Cake”, I of course needed apples. Now, in reality I could have made a quick run to the market, but those apples fresh
off the tree picked by little girls with rosy cheeks just seem to taste better!! It’s become tradition for us in the fall to head to Wilkins Fruit and Fir Farm. It’s a pleasant drive into the countryside. The orchard is an old established one and well maintained. The farm has grown along with the times, and as well as apples and pumpkins in season, they have Christmas trees in December. They’ve added a wonderful gift shop and a small market and they are famous in the area for their fresh baked cider donuts!! (Cassandra and I like ours with sugar on them…Daddy prefers his without!!)
We do so many happy things here together.” I smile at the thought.
The nights are cooler now with the temperatures dipping down into the 40’s. There is no need for a reminder to “take a jacket” when we go out of doors. That brisk breeze that greets us when the door opens is reminder enough!!
The cooler nights though signal the trees that it’s time to turn. Leaves in every hue already adorn the trees, and we’re nowhere near peak. I think the Fairies must be busy brushing color on the trees at night when we sleep. The Fairies that live near me hardly ever come away from the woods near our home. I’ve never seen them and I doubt that I will. I’m certain that they stay close to the tree line. It’s a comfort then when I can look out from my window and see that tree line. It makes me wonder if they stand at the tree line and see me. It’s a special treat when the maple in the front yard begins to show color. I know that they’ve made the trip in the wee hours just for me.
Scooter is curled up on a cushion as I write this. Like Annette Haltom’s “Eeyore”, he sleeps with a paw over his eyes and his nose tucked in. I hear the soft rhythm of his breathing and the sound is soothing. Scooter is content to be near one of us all the time. He has separate routines for both Erik and me. He will always come when Erik calls him; hence Erik has nicknamed him “my good doggie”. For the most part I just call him “the grumpy old man”. It amazes me though, how little animals ask of us, and how much that they give back. Scooter is a big part of our lives, and many times he is the comic relief in the day.
I’m very excited!! Next week Erik and I will be “on the road” and vacationing!! We’re headed to Canada to spend (Canadian) Thanksgiving with my family in Ontario. This will be such a treat. As well as being able to visit my Mom and be with family, we’ll be going to the fair in my hometown!! The Norfolk County Fair is one of the best fall fairs anywhere!! Simply stated and I quote, “The Norfolk County Fair & Horse Show is Ontario's fifth largest agricultural fair and the longest running fair in Canada! It's a tradition that you will want to visit again and again!” I plan on bringing home Laur’s Taffy for the girls, and taking oodles of pictures to share with all of you. Mammoth pumpkins, fresh squeezed cider, homemade quilts and all the country sights and sounds – I will make sure to get pictures of it all!!
I think I’m as excited about going to the fair once again as I am excited to be sharing it with Erik for the first time. My home when I was growing up was close enough to the fairgrounds that I could hear the music from the midway at night. It was like a sweet lullaby in the fall. Crisp cool nights, red and gold leaves that would swirl at your feet, buckeyes and the fair – it WAS fall.
As September comes to a close I would ask that you cherish your traditions. Visit an old haunt, pick some apples, call an old friend and say, “Do you remember when…??” Believe me when I tell you it will do your heart good.
I think my Apple Sauce is almost ready!!
Love from Butternut Grove,
Shelley
Apple Dabble Cake
(The ultimate Fall cake!!)
Ingredients:
2 Cups White Sugar
1 Cup Oil
3 Eggs
2 teaspoons Vanilla
3 Cups Flour
1 teaspoon Salt
1 teaspoon Baking Soda
2 teaspoons Cinnamon
4 Cups Raw Apples, Chopped
Glaze:
1 Cup Brown Sugar
¼ Cup Cream
¼ lb. Butter
Mix ingredients by hand in order given. Pour into 13” x 9” pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 – 40 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean.
Meanwhile in saucepan, combine brown sugar, cream and butter. Boil 4 minutes. Pour over baked cake, and return to oven for a few minutes.
Enjoy!!
The Simple Pleasures
Rosy Cheeks
Rosy Apples
Apple Dabble Cake
Cider Donuts (with sugar and without)
Cool and Crisp Nights
Laur’s Taffy!!
Buckeyes
Swirling Leaves
…and the Fairies who color them
A Sleeping Cat on a Cushion
Rebecca’s Baby Apple
We picked a half bushel of Macs and Courtlands combined. The girls were disappointed when the basket was full, but Daddy and I were the ones who carried it and we weren’t complaining in the least!!
Rebecca holds fast to a “baby apple”, and is determined to somehow nurture and care for it. It is a little Mac about the size of a small plum. In the back of my mind I hope it doesn’t get tucked into a bed for safekeeping.
Cassandra was my helper for the cake, and she is a gem in the kitchen. She is so determined to learn the proper way of doing things. I think it’s important that children learn these things early so under a watchful eye she cuts up apples and measures and stirs and learns that when something is bubbling away on the stove, you stir it with greater care. Sometimes Daddy winces and leaves the kitchen.
When Cassandra isn’t helping in the kitchen, she will sit on the little green stool and crochet while I cook. We’ll talk and she’ll tell me about her days at school, or what book she is reading at the moment. “Oh,” she says, “this is a happy room.
Mist hangs heavy in the late afternoon sky and golden leaves fall like snowflakes to the damp and cool earth. Autumn’s peak has passed in the Hudson Valley and like an old maid – her glory fading – autumn wears a new and softer face. Gone are the bright pumpkin oranges and fire reds. They’ve been replaced by subtler hues. Burnished golden honey and deep mysterious amber mingles with copper and russet. I close my eyes and in my mind I feel the soft lining of an empty milkweed pod. There are always a few wayward seeds that take flight to the spot where they’ll slumber till next spring.
Canada Geese gather and prepare for their flight as well. It’s a season of
change and as much a season of renewal, as spring itself. The land groans here and there with the change. The winds howl and complain, but nature will have her way no matter what the wind and the land have to say about it.
‘Tis the eve before Halloween and pumpkins and treats and ghosts and goblins swirl through the minds of little ones much like the leaves swirl through the air.
When I was a girl I loved dressing up for Halloween. I remember the feeling as one that I can only describe as exhilarating. As a child I would likened it to being filled with soda bubbles – wanting to giggle and jump.
I distinctly remember my first time to dress up for Halloween at school. I was six years old, in first grade and I attended Doan’s Hollow Public School. It was a modern two room schoolhouse set in the quiet countryside. My teacher
was a pleasant young woman by the name of Miss Voljak. In her classroom, she taught both first and second grade and did so with great ease. She had a most amiable disposition and I have fond memories of her to this day.
As Halloween approached, we would spend our recesses planning and piecing imaginary costumes. For six and seven year olds, we were ambitious!! I distinctly remember wanting to be a princess with a long flowing gown. In fact I wanted it so bad I had practically wished it into existence. No one however, had told my Papa about this.
My Papa had the kindest heart and you’d be hard-pressed to convince me otherwise. I think if I’d asked him for the moon, he’d have given it his best shot to get it for me.
Now I grew up in a time when a “store-bought” costume consisted of a mask from Woolworth’s and whatever you could scare up to fit over the winter coat!! We didn’t seem to suffer any ill effects of not having what the Joneses had since the Joneses didn’t seem “to have” either.
I remember it like it was yesterday. Papa came in the house at the end of a long day as he always did. This day however, he’d gone to town on a special errand and he was beaming. Actually, he was glowing he was so proud of himself.
He had in his hands a parcel in a brown paper sack. Brown paper sacks are so much better at hiding secrets than the see-through plastic bags of today. I remember Papa setting the bag down on the kitchen table, and then sitting proudly in the kitchen chair. There was a moment of silence as we three stood there taking it all in. The air was still chilly from the kitchen door being open and Papa’s coat had a cold air smell to it. Something was bubbling on the stove – dinner to be sure and then there was the brown paper sack.
Papa smiled and relished all of it.
Skeeziks, this is for you. It’s your first Halloween at school and I got you a costume.
My mind reeled. Papa, my Papa had gotten me a princess costume. I just knew it. I stood for a second seeing it all in my mind – yards and yards of pink shiny material with silver buttons and lace and, and, and.
When I opened the bag and pulled out the costume, my heart sank. Not only wasn’t it a princess costume it was a “boy’s” costume!! I wasn’t going to be a princess or even the poor step-sister in tatters. Horror of horrors, I was going to be a PIRATE!!
I thought I might cry until I looked up at my Papa’s face. He had picked it out himself, and he thought it the greatest costume on the face of the earth. It was written all over his expression. I remember feeling his strong arms around me as he asked me how I liked it. I remember hugging him. I don’t remember what I said. It’s not near as important as the hug that day.
I lived through my pirate adventure. I told my Papa years later how badly I’d wanted to be a princess that year. He told me that he’d found that out later and that he’d felt pretty bad. I hugged him again and told him I was glad that he got the pirate costume. I wonder if I’d have seen the pride in his eyes that day if things had been different.
This year I’m going to dress up like a witch and make some silly memories with Erik and the Sweet Potatoes.
Just for fun, I think I’ll wear a single gold earring as a remembrance of my pirate days. Not for fun – but for Papa.
