It still comes to me occasionally on a fine day in autumn with a nostalgia that is not so much regional homesickness as it is a wish to find some fixed and constant thing in a world whose order is changed. I comfort myself that, even now, in some parts of Missouri there is a sound of applebutter kettles being dragged from lofts, of apple peelers whirring. . . A smell of woodsmoke, mingled with cider and cinnamon, fills the air while over it all hangs the haze of Indian summer. And someway, I feel that so long as Missourians are still making applebutter, the world can't be in too bad a shape. "Life Was Simpler Then" Loula Grace Erdman
Richard and I have dragged the family applebutter kettle out to the fire ring for the last time this fall. Friends and family have gathered together on our back hillside for thirty-five years this October; it has seemed to us to be a natural ending time. I reflect on the joys of roasting wieners at noon under the kettle and feasting on contributions from everyone who comes, followed by toasting marshmallows by the young.
Family and friends have checked in from all points: Kansas, Texas, Arkansas, Arizona, California, New York, Iowa, Colorado, England, Australia.
Children spend the day out of doors, riding on hay bales in the trailer behind the tractor, painting or carving soap, playing in the woods or in the tree house.
The kids have loved helping to make cider in the antique press, and we quickly drank every last drop as it was squeezed.
The satisfaction of the work of peeling, stirring constantly, and canning dozens of quarts of applebutter is impossible to describe. Friends and family have labored as a team to produce "summer's sweetness stored away." Certainly, nostalgia hangs about the event like smoke from the fire. I join with the author quoted above in hoping that Missourians will continue making applebutter, perhaps in a few copper kettles, but primarily now, I know,slow cookers and roasting pans in the oven will be the vessels. Thirty-five years is quite enough for our personal contribution. . .we are on to other projects.
I am presently pondering how to crack a small quantity of home-grown Missouri walnuts for a few jars of apple-walnut relish, a much simpler venture.
In a world whose order has changed, connecting with earth and harvest is intensely satisfying.
