It’s the height of harvest, but I’m still in spring. May and June switched places this year. Sudden heat after winter’s thaw postponed spring planting then required nearly round-the clock watering—by hand. When July and August switched too, I broke. Hauling all those watering cans (with proper form) from our rain barrels was probably great for my osteoporosis, but I demanded hoses for the south garden. Hose watering isn’t efficient. It wastes water, increases weeds, slugs, rot, shocks plants and delays the harvest, but I couldn’t carry one more can. 

Harvest started in May with our herbs, then greens and strawberries. Although we pretty much kept up through the July raspberry season, drought and heat made us completely miss the wild juneberries, blueberries and chokecherries. Our plums and ground cherries are ripe now, dozens of yellow and red globes that must be gathered daily lest more rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels or other critters eat them before we do. We’re just finishing an apple rush: freezing slices, juicing whole Norlands, baking Westlands. My former favorites, Centennial crabapples, will ripen soon, along with a variety we’re not sure about, followed by Fall Reds, September Rubies, musky Chestnut crabapples, Winter Bananas, tart, purplish Dalgos, then sweet Frostbites ending the harvest in October, along with root crops. Our oldest daughter, Taylor, is coming home to visit at September’s end. One of her primary concerns is which apples will be ripe then.

My husband eats them straight from the trees he planted and grafted on our family homestead. Acquiring that taste took me a long time. As a young child in the autumn, I liked the adventure more than the apples when my mom took us to Aamodt’s Apple Farm in Stillwater, Minnesota. More than a decade later, my husband would move to that same town, years before we met. I have fond summer memories there when we were dating.

My aunt perennially served apples as healthful snacks to my cousins and me as kids at their house, grainy slices from deceptively named apples that didn’t taste delicious to me. I remember bobbing half-heartedly for whole apples in greasy, green water after the “witch” whose face paint melted at our one-room school’s Halloween party. After I graduated in the eighth grade and moved into town to attend the nearest high school, my best friend’s mother made apples more appetizing, dipping them in a thick layer of homemade caramel for trick-or-treaters. Parents drove their kids miles for one of Edie’s caramel apples. I’d guilt-eat a bite or two of flesh but was strictly in it for the caramel.

Edie’s husband, Curtis, became known as the local apple man. A former Air Force pilot turned farmer, Curtis also mastered a succession of hobbies, such as cooking homemade pan-sized pancakes that he flipped in the air, casting, glazing and firing ceramics, knitting Norwegian sweaters using both hands simultaneously, building sailboats and establishing an apple orchard. When my husband, Jack, moved us back to raise our family, Curtis taught him how to graft and supplied him with trees. Like most of our stock, the mystery variety is from Curtis. We’d ask him about it, but he passed on six summers ago. His son tried to give me Curtis’s old sailboat. Jack took one look at the hole for the dismantled mast, thick layer of dust above deck and mice droppings below and said no. Jack didn’t want another job. Besides, he feared I’d drown like Curtis and a friend of his almost did one windy day on the lake. 

Like Curtis, our adventurous middle child, Arie, likes trying her hand at many things. She’s an accomplished cook, perfecting breads, noodles, desserts and Asian dishes. When we visited Taylor two autumns ago, Arie tanned a deer hide in our living room. This summer she followed in her father, grandfather and great-grandfather’s footsteps, taking up carpentry. With Jack’s help, Arie constructed a Murphy bed and matching built-in corner cabinet for our den. She’s trying to talk Taylor into replacing our roof together next summer, so she can add-on a screened-in porch and a dog. I’m sure she could’ve restored Curtis’s sailboat but comfort myself with the kayak she coaxed Jack into buying me this Memorial Day. It’s a beautiful little craft, with hair-trigger responses that satisfies my itch for slalom water skiing. I’ve spent memorable mornings on the lake this summer, gliding on glass. While I’ll probably always be wistful about Curtis’s sailboat, Jack tends to be annoyingly right. I’m a fair-weather lake enthusiast, but the boat might’ve put Arie’s life at risk. 

One fall when Arie and Taylor were little, my mom took a group of us to the Corn and Apple Festival in Morden, Manitoba. Wishing for home amid the crowds, heat, dust and fumes, I watched our happy kids on the carnival rides and in the petting zoo. I can’t remember what we ate, but it sure wasn’t corn or apples. 

Both foods figure prominently in our autumns now. Though harvest is our busiest time of year, compounded by football season and school starting, we can’t resist sharing our prized sweet corn when it ripens. This Sunday we invited some relatives over for a corn feed. Jack preached and our family led music at a local church. My cousin took a raincheck after the service, so we invited one of the congregation to take her place. Since our table was packed, Arie stood around serving garden produce from the pots that wouldn’t fit. By the time Jack brought in the corn, everyone’s plates were full. Besides Jack and me, only one person ate corn. At least we sent some cobs home.

This time of year, goldenrod pollen is also at its peak, along with some persistent ragweed, my worst seasonal allergies. When they finally forced me to hole up in my bedroom and write,  avoiding the tainted outdoor air, Jack brought in a glass of fresh apple juice to perk me up.  Dew or a fresh rain moderates the pollen in the mornings, so I sneak outside for walks and do chores until I start sneezing too much. Mostly I’m inside now or on the lake, where I love to do my daily Bible time.

Whenever my summer allergies flared as a teen, Mom would wrap a corncob in cellophane and microwave it for me, little knowing corn was one of my worst food allergies. After sublingual treatments, I can eat it with abandon. Raw apples irritated Mom’s throat, but I haven’t developed any reaction to them yet. I try to limit exposure to alternating days. That doesn’t always happen during these months of abundance.

It’s cooler now. Our baking apples dropped off the trees earlier from intense heat and wind. Since our freezers are nearly full with harvest already, we’ve been enjoying more fresh and baked apples instead of storing raw ones for winter as usual. In typical baby-of-the-family fashion, Bethie found a shortcut for making apple crisps. We may regret all we’ve consumed come January, and even though Bethie also cut some of the crisps’ calories, we’d be gaining weight if not for morning exercise sessions with Lucy Wyndham-Read on YouTube along with our rigorous days. The kids have been after me to try Lucy’s routines since winter. After hearing about another cousin’s dramatic results this summer, I gave it a go. I modify some moves, but I’ve never experienced such relatively fast, simple success before. Just in time, or it’d be a repeat of Taylor’s gap year before medical school, when she fattened us all up with apple pies. Getting back into shape took months. 

I had Bethie’s last batch of apple crisp for breakfast and dessert for supper. She’s making a final fresh one today. I’m including her recipe below, which I hope you enjoy as well. Happy harvest!

Bethie’s Shortcut Apple Crisp

• 4 cups sliced baking apples (we prefer our unpeeled Westlands)
• 3/4 cup brown sugar (we mix organic crystallized cane juice with a bit of organic unsulphured blackstrap molasses)
• 1/2 cup flour (we use a concentrated organic type, so you may want to try less)
• 1/2 c. rolled oats
• 1 1/2 tablespoons pumpkin pie spice
• 3 tablespoons butter, softened

Place apples in a greased 8 x 8 pan. Mix dry ingredients, add softened butter and mix well, then sprinkle over apple slices. Bake 30 minutes on 375 degrees. 

The original delicious recipe came from a dear neighbor and served 6. We double it in a glass 9 x 13 to feed 4 of us.

NEWSFLASH: My favorite sandwich is now Grilled Apple Cheddar Cheese

Butter both sides of bread, brown one side on griddle, then flip. On browned sides, put sliced cheddar, partially melt while browning other sides. When bottom sides are browned, add thinly sliced, unpeeled apples to one cheesy side, top with other browned cheesy piece, cheese side down against the apples to help secure them in place. 

It’s messy but such crunchy-sweet, quick, easy, nutritious and delicious comfort food, I don’t think I’ll ever voluntarily go back to plain grilled cheese sandwiches again!