The previous weekend, we spent chopping and washing and crushing and pressing a lot of 650 lb of Granny Smith apples grown in state and picked earlier the same week. Having worn our muscles tired, we nonetheless greet the end results with great cheer. The pitch was made later on, and the honey shall be added in due course.
It seems a fitting sort of activity for early November. The crispness of the air, the scattered clouds overhead, the last frenetic efforts on the part of local wildlife to fill their bellies, all proclaim the coming of winter in no short order. The last of the harvest must be gotten in, and any fattening not done for the winter must be done posthaste.
The tailgate of the pickup truck made an excellent workbench for our efforts. The shortness of time lent vigor to our activities, with the need to be done before rain came, before daylight ended, before our all too brief weekend was spent, its wasteful hours not laid in vain but in honest toil, the sort of which the Puritans all too grimly spoke but in the end result of which we can proclaim our relief and pleasure.
One farmer to wash and chop, one farmer to grind and press - much work in all too few hours!
We shifted about halfway through from halving the apples to quartering them. This made the crushing and pressing go much faster in return.
With hand-powered tools, there is no shortage of muscle wear!
Of course, when setting off on a full day's labor, a hearty farm breakfast is essential - in this case, streaky rashers of bacon, oat porridge with or without a lick of strawberry preserves, scrambled eggs, and blackcurrant & crystallized ginger scones kept us going all day without need for lunch.
