An apple a day...
When I was a child, autumn and apple-picking time were synonymous. Now, we didn’t have an apple orchard. In fact, we only had one apple tree in our backyard. It wasn’t what you would call a beautiful tree. And it did not produce large, juicy apples that you would bite into and say, “Yum, yum! I think I’ll have another.”
Our fruit tree grew small apples. Mother called them “cooking” apples. I think that she could have also referred to them as wormy and bespeckled with unattractive brown spots. A raw apple a day from this tree was a gracious plenty.
Despite its obvious shortcomings, I loved this tree for two reasons.
(Picture: cut-paper collage illustration from my unpublished picture book, MY OTHER BROTHER)
Reason #1:
Our solitary apple tree leaned at a 45-degree angle. From the perspective of a 10-year-old tomboy, this was definitely a redeeming quality. The tree was a piece of cake (or should I say a piece of apple pie) to climb.
I fondly remember the days when I grabbed hold of a low-hanging branch and shimmied up that tree with the greatest of ease. (In case you are wondering, shimmy is a real word. I just looked it up. The Oxford Dictionary states that it means “to move effortlessly.” Oh, yes. I remember the days of moving effortlessly.)
From this perch on high, I spent countless hours in the most splendid open-air cockpit where I routinely flew above our church’s rooftop, over the Blue Ridge Mountains, and through puffy, cumulous clouds. Back in the day, my adventures were only limited by my imagination.
Precious memories.
(Picture: cut-paper collage illustration from the front cover of You Can't Judge a Bee by Its Color)
(Picture: cut-paper collage illustration from the Recipes page of my website)
Reason #2:
My grandmother’s old-fashioned Fried Apple Pies.
Each autumn, Grandma Thompson took fruit from our tree, washed the apples, sliced them, and dried them in the sun for days and days on baking sheets. After what seemed like an eternity, the apples were ready for consumption. Then, Grandma T. employed her vintage cast iron skillet and made one of the best-tasting foods I ever put in my mouth.
Nothing says autumn to me like the following recipe. Enjoy.
Grandma Thompson’s Fried Apple Pies
Fruit Filling:
2 bags of dried apples
1/4 c. sugar
1 T. light brown sugar
1/2 stick unsalted butter
1/4 t. ground nutmeg
1/2 t. ground cinnamon
Fill pot with apples. Cover apples with water. Add sugar and butter. Stir. Bring to a boil. Turn down temperature, cover, and simmer until apples are tender. Stir frequently. Add water as needed. Cook approximately one hour. Remove from heat. Add nutmeg and cinnamon. Stir and mash apples to consistency of chunky applesauce. Let cool.
*Can use 2 c. raw apples (cored and peeled). Simmer for 15-20 minutes.
Homemade Pastry:
2 1/2 c. self-rising flour (can use Gluten Free flour)
1/2 c. shortening
2 T. sugar
1 egg yolk
1/2 c. ice water
1 c. cooking oil
Cut shortening into flour. Combine sugar, egg yolk, and ice water. Stir until sticky. Roll out dough on floured surface to 1/8” thickness. Cut into 4” circles. Add 1 T. of fruit filling to center of each circle. Wet edges, fold over, and pinch edges closed with fork tines. Fill skillet with 1/4 inch of oil. Place pies in skillet. Oil temperature must be 350 degrees. Fry 2 minutes per side or until golden brown.
It was a blessing from God to have grown up on ten acres in the country—in the Bible Belt—in small-town America—and in a house with one leaning apple tree in the backyard.
I would be remiss if I failed to recognize two people before I publish this blog.
My brother, Bryan:
It was under his tutelage that I learned to be a proficient tree climber. Thanks for the hours of pure childhood joy and for our shared memories.
My sister, Cathy:
She located Grandma Thompson’s recipe so that I could share it with you folks. So grateful that one of the Carlton kids has an interest in cooking. :)