The Sandpoint Eater: Apples and autumn

By Marcia Pilgeram
Reader Columnist

Last week, my dear friend Mary and I took a leisurely walk in my neck of the woods. In the warm afternoon sun, we stopped to admire gardens yielding the last of their harvest and trees laden with fragrant fruit. We’ve walked these same roads and trails for years and, once upon a time, when we spotted an apple tree heavy with fruit, we didn’t just admire it — we gathered the goods.

Walking past these trees, we reminded each other of the days when we would carry home bags of apples to be washed, peeled, cored and sliced. Some would become pie filling, carefully seasoned with lemon juice, cinnamon and a dash of nutmeg, then tucked away in freezer bags for winter baking. Others would simmer gently on the stove until they yielded applesauce. There was always another pie to make, another jar to fill, another meal for someone we loved.

And, of course, there was the mess: apple peels everywhere, sticky counters, pots bubbling on the stove, and the kitchen fragrant with the smell of cinnamon and apples. The entire house smelled of fall.

I loved it… most of the time. It was tedious work, but a labor of love in the truest sense, and I was feeding the people I loved. And perhaps that is the part I remember most.

These days, neither Mary nor I have many mouths to feed, so we walked past those apple trees and left the fruit hanging.

I do have an apple tree in my own yard — a crabapple. There was a time when I carefully harvested those little fruits, too. Crabapples are naturally high in pectin, and I used them mostly to make mint jelly. There was something magical about harvesting the little crabapples from my front yard, picking fresh mint from my backyard and simmering them into a sweet smelling, jewel-toned jelly.

It’s been years since I’ve made a batch, and now I enjoy this lovely tree most in spring, when she puts on a spectacular display of blossoms. I am learning, slowly, that I don’t need to turn every beautiful thing into something useful. 

Don’t get me wrong. I still love apples, especially this time of year, and we’re so lucky to live in a region that produces such wonderful varieties. Take your pick: Gala, Jonathan, Jonagold, Golden Delicious, Red Delicious, Rome, Fuji, Granny Smith, Honeycrisp and the popular Cosmic Crisp, which was bred at Washington State University. 

There are more than 7,000 apple varieties grown around the world, with roughly 2,500 varieties in the U.S. alone. So that humble apple sitting in your fruit bowl is part of an extraordinarily large family.

Nowadays, I’m content knowing I have peeled enough apples to last several lifetimes. Year after year, I did the work. I made the pies, filled the jars and turned the harvest into something to be shared.

As I get older, I continue to learn important things — like it’s OK to admire the harvest and leave the apples hanging on the tree, enjoying the blossoms without making the jelly. We can appreciate something simply because it is beautiful, and still remember what it once meant to us. 

I can vividly remember my mother’s favorite apple recipe. It was a rich, moist chocolate chip apple cake, and she made it often. Perched on a nearby stool, I watched in awe as she deftly worked the apples, leaving behind perfect long ribbons of red-tinged peel.

I know her recipe by heart, which is a good thing; because, sadly, the pencil-written instructions, scrawled years ago on an old index card, are slowly fading. But my memory of this cake never will.

Some recipes are worth keeping because they’re so delicious. Others are worth keeping for the fragrant memories.

This one, for me, is both.

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Apple, chocolate chip and pecan cake

This cake is rich and moist, and loves to travel. It’s also delicious using half chocolate chips and half Trader Joe’s caramel chips. Yield 9”x13” cake.