The Most Generous Tree
an ode, revisited
Thank you for joining us!
Before we begin, I wanted to share a Comment Highlight from Monday’s discussion question:
wrote…Honestly I have never been so aware of the changes of seasons as I have been while reading the Wildroot Parables. Every season change implies saying goodbye to something loved; saying hello to something new and uncertain; embracing things changing beyond our control; preparing for a future we can only vaguely plan for. As in the march of seasons, so in the seasons of life. I am an optimist by nature and not by decision, so I enjoy the march of seasons and have always found something to love in each of them. It's a reminder that life isn't something we can control. Nevertheless, you've opened my eyes to a perspective that I never considered before, that these transitions are not easy and not so easily ignored or rationalized away.
Much appreciated, Scoot! And very profoundly said. That push and pull of the seasons and the inevitable letting go of what we can’t control is truly where so much of the miraculous lurks in our lives. Thank you for commenting!
writes Catholic-flavored essays with a deep grounding in “peasant theology” over at The Peasant Times-Dispatch and speculative fiction over at Gibberish!
The Most Generous Tree
I first posted the following ode to apples last year around this time. Until moving to this property, I didn’t realize just how incredible the humble apple really is. And since writing it, I continue to be amazed.
A few weeks ago, our neighbors gave us a basket of apples from their tree, which ripen earlier than ours. I made cider with them, canned for winter sipping. Then I dehydrated the pulp left over from juicing, turning it into a sort of easily-stored fruit leather. And finally, the cores and scraps made good fodder for a batch of vinegar.
The whole journey was a nearly zero-waste process, which is an incredible marvel to me every time I witness it.
Apples are miraculous. Delicious. Unmatched in their versatility. So I am pleased to bring you last year’s ode all over again, with an even deeper affection.
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The apple is my favorite fruit.
Sure, there are berries I enjoy and more exotic foods to sample as a treat, but you really can’t beat the apple for versatility, reliability, and comfort.
And September is the apple-lover’s season.
In the old days, students used to bring an apple for the teacher, because citizens paid for education, not governments, and peasants pay for treasure with what they have.
In September, we have apples.
Apples are a gift. They are so common that we often forget.
But to make the acquaintance of an apple tree is an experience you don’t soon forget. They are generous. Unripe apples can be added to other fruits to thicken them into jams and jellies. A perfect apple, picked at the right time, can be stored in a cool place for months and months with zero impact on quality. Even overripe apples are delicious, cooked down into fragrant applesauce.
The apple can be sweetened into pies and cakes or made savory, long-cooked with onions and sauerkraut and caraway seed into the heartiest autumn dish. It can be turned into cider. It can be frozen. It can be dried.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away? Of course! Wellness is the only logical result of such delicious grace!
There is a long tradition of honor—and rightly so—for the trees of the orchard.
In January, on the Twelfth Night after the Christmas feast, I pour cider around the roots of the tree and thank God for another harvest. This is called wassailing the apple tree.
Wassail, a festive greeting, which means be in good health!
My most fervent prayer, whispered into the bare winter branches, is that this tree who nourishes me so thoroughly would thrive, would grow, would sweeten.
Wassail, old friend! Wassail!
And if I listen very carefully, head tilted just-so, I can hear my whisper echoed back to me.
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I love apples! Also, in a pie because apple pie is my favorite ❤️
My aunt (who is obsessed with apples) lives in rural Ohio where most of my family is from. Whenever I’m out there, especially in the fall, we take the back country roads and stop at this little apple farm that has a huge outside refrigerator with jugs of fresh cider. Honor system, leave a couple bucks and go. Best cider ever.