Five-gallon buckets of apples
The yield of four, five-gallon buckets full of transparent apples from one lone tree that Hubby and I picked on Monday evening overwhelmed me as I could see that the coming days of that week would be dominated by preparing fruit for winter use.
As we picked, many yellow and small apples fell to the ground along with others that birds had feasted on.
We let them lay, knowing that our small herd of deer would find them for a snack during their nightly stroll into the unfenced area.
About 9 a.m. on Tuesday I set out my work area on our screened deck. It's a wonderful place to work, dabble with water colors, read, eat our meals or watch hummingbirds gather nectar from an array of flowers, or to sit with a vacant mind in the warmth of summer days without having to deal with wasps and other flying bugs.
To start my applesauce job, I covered part of the carpet with newspaper under and in front of a chair where I would sit, and a five-gallon bucket that I straddle, for cores and peelings. I covered a bench with newspaper for a pan of washed apples, a pan of lightly salted water for apple slices and my tools, which were a peeler and pairing knife.
It takes awhile for the one persons assembly line to reach efficiency, though this project has been a once a year endeavor for more than I care to count.
Peelings fall into the bucket between my feet, some fall on the newspaper, which I leave until later to pick up, though I'm apt to forget and step on them, which scatters green peelings across the carpet.
I slice apples from the core into the salted water, drop the core into the bucket. My aim is not always good and the core hits the rim and jumps beneath the bench, which I also leave until later.
I take the pan filled with sliced apples to the kitchen, rinse them in a colander and pour the product into a 4-quart pan with about one and a half cups of pineapple juice and place the lid.
Transparent apples are soft and cook to sauce stage quite quickly. I stir them occasionally and turn the heat low once they are at boiling point. Heated jars ready, I fill 3-quart jars.
Back to the workbench with another batch of washed apples to repeat each step. Four hours later and 6-quarts of sauce to freeze I call it a day. I clean up the scattered peelings and cores. The washed utensils I leave about the kitchen for Wednesday's sitting which is a repeat of hours and yield.
Thursday was short day with the fruit, only three quarts, as we took a drive to a friend's orchard on Sunset Bay, to get pie cherries. I juice the cherries, and freeze it ready for a jelly to make when the snow flies.
Friday morning I was tired in body and mind and tired of the clutter in my kitchen. The past days had been warm and pleasant. Overnight temperatures had dropped to downright cold, which didn't hold well with my mood of the day.
Determined to finish the apples in five gallon buckets and get the kitchen back in order I donned a sweat suit and long wool socks, and a head scarf to keep my ears warm, then set the stage for my last stab at finishing what I had started on Monday.
Toward the end of the last bucket Hubby asked, "How are you doing?" I replied, "The last few apples I've peeled, I've sliced into the bucket of peelings and cores instead of the salted water pan, which tells me it's time to quit."
After a long five hour spell on that day my kitchen and deck were ship-shape and I had 26 quarts of apple sauce in the freezer which we will enjoy until next years crop is ripe for picking.