Orchard Dreams
When I was in high school, I spent many weekends driving into Roslindale with my father to help with the renovation of my great Aunt Rosie’s house. A three story house split into an upper and lower apartment, it had been the main hub of the Italian side of the family since the 1930s. My grandmother, aunts, uncle, great grandmother, and great grandfather, had all, at one time, lived under its roof. Now, only my Aunt Rosie remained. She was nearing 90 and beginning to show signs of dementia.
As she was having trouble with stairs, we prioritized renovating the first floor apartment as my Aunt’s new living space. Once she was settled, we got to work on the second and third floors, and the basement. These were my favorite places to work because they held the family history. Old cigar boxes filled with photos. The china, flatware, and glasses my great grandmother used for entertaining. A bottle of limoncello from the 1950s. A crocodile skin handbag from pre-Castro Cuba.
Then, there was great grandpas wine press.
It was one of the coolest things I had ever seen. Tucked in a corner of the basement, the press sat rotting away from its metal hoops. The huge cast iron screw lever and the press plate were still in tact. The whole corner smelled like a school science project gone wrong, but that didn’t matter to me. The sight of the dusty green bottles, old corking machine, and piles of corks strewn across the floor filled me with familial pride. I could clearly see my great grandfather, stooped and muttering to himself in Italian, tasting the fruit of his labor.
Later that day, as we ate lunch, I asked Aunt Rosie about the press. Her longterm memory was still very sharp, and she gave me a detailed account of how her father had grown Concord grapes on trellises in their small back yard. He’d harvested them, and made several bottles wine every year. Unfortunately, he didn’t teach any of his children how to do it. So, when he died, the process died with him.
As we sat there, sipping Moxie and nibbling on sandwiches, I had an instant desire to take up the mantle as the families winemaker.
It’s been 15 years since that conversation. My Aunt Rosie died in 2017 at the age of 92. The Roslindale house was sold. I got married, had kids, and moved up to New Hampshire to homestead a granite strewn hill. Yet, my desire has remained, mostly, unchanged.
For years, I was smitten with the idea of growing rows and rows of grapes, all of which would be pressed and aged into wine. When I lived in Italy, I entertained the idea of extending my visa and finding work at a Chianti vineyard for the summer. What would that have been like? Sunburns and verbal abuse from an angry Italian vintner I couldn’t understand? Oh, what bliss.
Now, I say that my dream remained “mostly” unchanged because I still maintain a desire to one day develop a fermented beverage from fruit I’ve grown myself. Only, my interest has switched from grapes and wine, to apples and cider.
While there are a good handful of wineries in New England, none of them are making their product exclusively from native grapes. They ship in grapes from California and Virginia, where the climates are much more conducive to their growth. This is understandable, but, as a result, most New England made wines lack the terroir necessary for truly deep flavor. Not so with apples.
Apples have been grown here since the settlers arrived in the late 17th century. In the last decade, there has been an interest among orchardists and brewers to develop ciders made from heirloom variety apples that mimic those our forefathers drank. Unlike commercial ciders, like Angry Orchard or Redd’s Apple Ale, both of which are sickeningly sweet, the craft ciders currently being made in New England are traditional, dry ciders that use only the fermented juice of apples.
Now, I ask you, what self respecting New Englander, who also happens to be a history nut, cider lover, and homesteader, would not want to join in this fantastic movement?
I don’t know when exactly my interest shifted from grapes to apples, but the prospect of growing an orchard has been an obsession of mine for the last few years (longer if you ask my wife). Our move to New Hampshire has only exacerbated it. I adore the connection to place and history that apples bring. I love the way the trees look, with their twisted, gnarled branches blossoming in the spring and baring fruit in the fall. I walk my 2.75 acres daily, pondering aloud where the orchard would eventually go. Well, it’s been three years of pondering and my wife finally had enough of it.
I am turning 30 in June. As a present for this milestone, my wife gathered our family together and gifted me some apple trees. If she’d had her way, this would have been a surprise. The only reason it’s not is because the trees needed to be ordered before the end of April, and she wanted to know the kinds I wanted. A friend got me glommed onto a Maine-based organic seed company called FedCo, who also happens to specialize in apple varieties that thrive in New England. As I searched their extensive listing, I began to get excited. Now that my wife and family were taking the first step to making my dream a reality, which apples did I want?
All of them, as it turns out, though we only had the budget for 6 trees. Here’s what is coming to the homestead in a few short weeks:
Black Oxford - a Maine heirloom variety
Esopus Spitzenburg - Thomas Jefferson’s favorite apple
Honeycrisp - because Honeycrisp
Liberty - sturdy, scab-immune, and prolific
Redfield - a red fleshed apple with two-toned foliage
Wickson - a cider variety
I’m not sure I’ve ever been more excited for mail to arrive.