After Apple Picking

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

                                                                                            -Robert Frost

Post Harvest Clean-up

Henry David Thoreau wrote in his book Wild Apples a simple yet bold sentence: "All apples are good in November."  In the past week I have had many opportunities to test this assertion.  We are in the midst of the post-harvest clean-up of the orchard, raking apples, cutting suckers and mowing weeds and high grasses.  This tidying of the orchard has allowed me to glean those hidden apples of all varieties and after a great deal of sampling I would have to say I respectfully disagree with Mr. Thoreau.  Perhaps Thoreau was not graced with the pleasure of biting into a McIntosh that has defied the laws of gravity since mid-September.  Some varieties, those picked only a few weeks prior, give to the pallet a sensation very similiar to the flavor and texture they had the day I picked them.  Others seem only to worsen with age, becoming soft, mealy and in some cases overly sweet.  There are those however that when bitten into have a taste that seems only possible this time of year.  For this apple, I must wholeheartedly agree with Thoreau when he says the November air "is the sauce it is to be eaten with.' 

The days are colder, but still of an enjoyable temperature to work in.  The key I have found is to dress in layers, which can be peeled off as the body and the day begin to warm.  Many of the apple trees have begun to turn in color, most to various shades of yellow and gold, a few to orange or even a deep crimson. 
Putting the orchard to bed is hard but satisfying work.  In some ways raking the apples out from under the trees feels much more physically strenuous than picking the fruit.  The job is messy with apples being crushed under foot and the sent of fermenting fruit in the nostrils.  As a crew we slowly make our way up and down each row.  Some varieties leave little work to be done, with only an apple here or there to be found, others have yellow and red carpets under them.  This is a part of the harvest season I have never been a part of before, but I am greatful to learn what goes into preparing the orchard for winter.  It is a good reminder that the work does not end when the apples are off the trees. 

Raked apples

Apple picking day 43: The Last Apple

Goldrush

As I near the end of a picking season I always find myself experiencing a mixture of sadness and relief. Sadness that the season and work I love is coming to an end and relief that my body will soon get some much needed time to rest and heal from the strenuous days of picking. 

As the final day nears, I often think about the last apple of the season.  What variety will it be?  What part of the orchard will it be in?  Will I know it is the last apple of the season?  I suppose I never really remember my last apple after the fact.  There is no ceremony to it, but somehow the last day of picking does take on a special meaning.
The first part of the past week we spent in the Fuji, some of the longest rows in the orchard that seemed to stretch on and on, compelling you to glance down to the end of the row each time you dumped your bucket, past the empty bins waiting to be filled.  Although there were only three rows, the crop was heavy and it took three of us several days to pick the trees clean.  By Wednesday all that was left in the orchard was the Goldrush and a few cider apples.

Bins lined-up in the Fuji

The day was warm, in the high seventies and in many ways it felt much more like the first day of picking rather than the last.  It was not the cold windy November day that I envisioned picking the Goldrush in.  It was, none the less, very pleasant and the bare trees of the surrounding forest, the honking of the geese overhead and the golden leaves of the Goldrush trees were a sufficient reminder of the season. 
The pace of the day felt slower than most.  We worked steadily, but it felt as though there was no rush to reach the inevitable.  Instead I felt a desire to savor the final moments of a long season.  Taking the time to sit under the trees and share a lunch with fellow pickers or pause at the top of a ladder to take in the view of the lake and the maples as they let loose their final leaves, leaving the stage to the red and russet oaks. 
Although the crew was spread out for most of the day in different parts of the orchard picking a few remaining cider apples and beginning clean-up, we all converged in the last of the Goldrush by the end of the day.  Call me sentimental, but it felt rather symbolic to have the entire crew share in the last of the harvest.  As I walked away from the trees I felt many things, but mostly a sense of gratitude for the harvest and for the opportunity to partake in such noble work.  As the last of the bins were loaded onto the truck to be hauled back to the orchard, I took comfort in knowing there will always be another season.

The last load of apples for the season

Although the picking is over there is still a lot to do in the orchard to prepare it for winter.  The apples have to be raked out from under the trees, all the suckers cut and the isles between the trees mowed.  This work should take another few weeks, time I will be happy to spend among the trees.

Goldrush on the last morning of picking

Picking Day 37: Geese

I walked in the door tonight with my hands full of cider, a jar of grape jelly from a co-worker and a picking bucket of heirloom apples.  It was one of those moments where it struck me how wonderful the season is and how lucky I am to be blessed with such work.  The end of the day is my favorite time, especially when my hands are callused and my feet sore.

Morning in the Goldens

Geese few over my head many times today, rounding up any last stragglers as they make there journey south.  One small V would fly over, than a few minutes later a larger one would appear from the direction in which the first disappeared.  There is talk of snow, although I have my doubts.

Romes

We picked the last of the Golden Delicious this morning.  It started out cold and wet, the hands numb, not wanting to grip the apples.  I could see my breath as I filled my first bin.  Without much warning the sun broke through, striking the apples in such a way they almost seemed to glow.  By mid-morning we moved on to Cameos and then Romes and  few last Jonagolds.  We fished the day picking a couple bins of Ida Reds, which seemed to be some of the largest apples in the whole orchard.  Unfortunately there are only three short rows of them and before we know it they will be gone.  
Most of the maples have lost their color, although one outside my living-room window is still stuck in mid-summer.  The oaks still have awhile, as do the apple trees, which almost always seem to stay green long after the woods around them have turned.

Apple Picking Day 31: Shorter Days and Cold Nights

Ida Red

The nights have been getting colder, bringing out the reds and yellows in the maples, making some of them almost neon.  Frost is still to come here in the Ithaca Valley, but up at the orchard the grass was coated in the first frost of the season this morning, creating a shimmering silver blanket as the long rays of the early morning sun brushed across it.  The Golden Delicious were cold to the touch this morning, making the hands partially numb for the first hour of picking.   By mid-morning the sweater was peeled off and my lunch I was in a t-shirt, welcoming the rays of what I might consider an almost perfect October day.   

Golden Delicious

After a morning in the Golden Delicious, we moved into the two rows of Ida Red.  They were big and easy to see compared to the Golden Delicious and Mutsu which have a habit of hiding in the thick foliage.  Picking the Idas always marks a turn toward the end of the season.  With only a week or a little more of picking left, the orchard is beginning to look bare.
 We finished the Mutsu yesterday, picking the last of the softball size fruit felt like a bit of a letdown, but there was also a satisfying sense of accomplishment as we enter the last push to get in the the harvest before it falls off the trees.  Although many are on the ground, there is still a good number of empires left on the trees, probably most of a days work.  There are still more Golden Delicious, Fuji, Rome and of course Gold Rush left to pick as well. 

Roxbury Russet

Northern Spy

The Northern Spy where picked at the end of last week a long with all but a smattering of Jonagolds.  Fortunes also came in off the trees as did a few of the heirloom varieties including the Roxbury Russet.

Jonagold

 This is the kind of fall weather I like, the late afternoons are cool, the mornings chilly and the colors of the maples are absolutely exquisite.  Each apple that falls to the ground or is placed in my picking bucket is a reminder of the fleeting nature of the season.  I begin to find a comfort in the sight of a tree that still has apples on it, but I also have an all to keen awareness that this harvest season, like all others will end.  What a wonderful reason to enjoy every day that is left. 

View from the Mutsu