Apple butter

Late summer or eary autumn was apple butter making time in the country. Mom (my grandmother) and Aunt Virge (Virginia)—her older sister—would donn their bonnets and spend a day picking up apples and placing them in their aprons from the orchard my grandad planted, and then they would dump their full aprons into baskets and buckets. Most of the apples were winesap or sheep nose varieties, and a few others of which I've forgotten their names. At next daybreak, a wood fire was built over which a huge brass kettle was placed on its wroughtiron stand. Some water and was added and the apples were peeled, cored, sliced, and diced. When several large large dishpans were filled, the fruit would be placed in the kettle of hot water and allowed to cook. Along the way, necessary spices and sugar were added. This process was was repeated until all the apples were cooked, and all the ensuing apple butter was finally canned in blue Ball Mason jars, rubber rings were added, and the tops screwed on tightly. This was probably the only day of the year when the family had to eat the previous evenings leftover food.

To this day, I still love apple butter, and I eat it on and with a lot of other foods, including mixing it with peanut butter. I also use it on pancakes instead of syrup, I eat in oatmeal, and it is used for baked-on cake icing. These days, I go to church apple butter making events and buy enough pint jars full to last us an entire year. I detest the store-bought stuff, but will eat it when my stash goes dry.

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