In Central Pennsylvania, Autumn was a very busy time of the
year for most folks, my family especially. That was the
time to gather apples from the many trees on relatives land .
My Dad would gather my Step-Mom, cousins and more cousins
as well as me and we picked apples until we were exhausted.




We had relatives peeling apples by hand and some with an
apple peeler that was powered by a hand crank and muscles.
As this chore was being done, a Hugh black iron pot was hung
by heavy duty chains from a metal tripod like contraption of
which there was a large wood fire burning under this pot.



A small amount of water was put into the pot along with
many apples. There were wonderful spices of cinnamon,
nutmeg and allspice that were added and the scent of apples
cooking in spices filled the air with a most tantalizing scent.



As the apples cooked down, the mixture began to thicken
slightly and my Dad used a long wooden pole to stir them
so they wouldn't scorch. More apples and spices were
added as could be put in the pot. After several hours the
apples turned a deep brown and the scent made you yearn
for a taste of them.

We children were finished with our part of the Apple
Butter making and we walked out into the woods and down a
hill to a dirt road, where we walked and sang, " Good Night
Irene" at the top of our lungs.

The smell of the Oak wood burning and the Apple Butter
blended together as it drifted out over our little part of
the world and we contented children were deliriously happy
to look out over those gorgeous Allegheny mountains that
were filled with every color of leaves we could imagine and
the wondrous scents of a sunny Autumn day and apples
drifting on the wind.



This is one day in my life that happened every Autumn
and I never tired of helping to make Apple Butter or
of eating it.

Ann Marie Fisher
© October 25, 2006

Psalm 135: 3

Praise the LORD; for the LORD is good: sing praises
unto his name; for it is pleasant.