An Apple Orchard Revisited
Hey again Foodie Friends, Growing up in Michigan, the oldest of 6 kids, there was a kind of magic to autumn that seemed to arrive overnight. One morning the maples would still be holding onto summer, and by the next weekend the countryside had burst into flame. Reds like old barn paint. Golds bright as church bells. The roads beyond town became tunnels of color, and every family seemed to know exactly where they were headed….for us, it was the local apple orchard. We’d pile into the car in our sweaters and flannel jackets, windows fogging up from excited chatter and the scent of damp leaves clinging to our shoes. The drive itself was part of the ritual. Fields stretched wide beneath a gray-blue sky. Corn stalks stood dry and rustling in the breeze. Somewhere in the distance, wood smoke drifted from farmhouse chimneys, announcing that summer was gone for another year. Porter’s Orchard always appeared at the end of a winding country road, as if it had been waiting for us all along. The first thing you noticed was the smell. Sweet apples, fresh earth… cinnamon. Hot oil from the donut fryer. Inside the cider mill, apples tumbled and rattled through presses that looked impossibly old. The reward for waiting was a gallon jug of cider so cold it seemed to sweat in your hands. Freshly pressed that very day, it carried the taste of dozens of apples together, tart and sweet at once, tasting somehow like the entire season. I’ve had in California what they call ‘cider’. To paraphrase Democratic vice-presidential nominee Lloyd Bentsen’s comment to Dan Quayle…”I know cider…and this is no cider.” Then came the real treasure…..the fried cake donuts. They arrived by the dozen, still warm from the fryer, stacked high on brown paper. Someone behind the counter would shower them with cinnamon sugar .We never waited to get home. We stood outside among the fallen leaves, licking sugar from our fingers while the donuts were still hot enough to steam in the cool air. The cider was icy. The donuts were warm. The contrast felt perfect. Looking back now, it wasn’t just about apples or cider or powdered sugar. It was about the certainty of those autumn afternoons. The comfort of knowing that every year, when the leaves turned and the air sharpened, we’d make that drive again. For a few hours the world slowed down, and all the important things fit into simple pleasures: family, a country road, a gallon of fresh cider, and a warm donut dusted white against a Michigan fall sky. Even now, whenever I catch the scent of apples on a cool October day at the local Farmers Market, I’m right back there, standing in a cloud of cinnamon sugar, watching leaves tumble across the orchard parking lot, convinced that autumn could never be more beautiful than it was in that moment. I miss those days along with morning frost on the pumpkins come early October every year. As a bonus, I’ve included my favorite recipe for apple fritters. They are light and moist with just enough batter to hold the chunks of apple together. You can even make the batter the night before….great drizzled with salty-caramel sauce. You’re Welcome… David & Tino
