Apple Pies – Cynthia Reyes

A Good Home, Apple Pies, Canadian Gardens, Canadian Homes, Canadian life, Farmhouse Kitchen, Garden

Garden Joys

September 18, 2015September 19, 2015 Cynthia Reyes

It’s such a joy to grow things.

And even more satisfying to know that the stuff we’re eating is from our own garden.

This year, as I walked through the garden, I found myself eating berries and vegetables before I even got them into the house.

Instead of making jelly, I ate the currants fresh from the bush every day.

Asparagus spears, delicious when eaten fresh, often didn’t make it into the kitchen.

Same for the raspberries and even some tomatoes.

Being able to forage for food in one’s own garden is a privilege.

Recently, we’ve made herb oils (basil, in this case).

And I’ve made peach cake.

Knowing my tragic history with baking cakes, my family was impressed by how well it turned out.

I was so impressed with my baking victory that I kept making the same cake over and over again.

“Make her stop!” younger daughter begged her father.

I protested and she said “Mom, I love you. But you know … you find one thing that you can make, and you keep making it and making it till we’re sick of it.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to look penitent. But I was busy making another peach cake.

Soon it will be time to pull the garlic and onion bulbs from the soil.

And time to make apple pie.

I’ll peel and slice the apples, and my good man will make the pies. Everyone in our family looks forward to this tradition (and no-one complains since he only makes these delicious pies once a year).

It’s the simple stuff. The good stuff.

And my daughter will be relieved to know that now I’m serving the peaches freshly sliced, with yogourt.

But just wait till next summer.

PHOTOS BY HAMLIN GRANGE

A Good Home, Apple Pies, Dried Herbs, Farmhouse Kitchen, Garden, Harvest, Herbs

A Messy Kitchen in the Autumn

October 27, 2014October 9, 2015 Cynthia Reyes

Life happens in our kitchen. Every day.

Which means it’s always clean but often a mess.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Our human friends like to hang out there and share their stories.

Dog friends like to sleep there and sometimes snore.

In the autumn, potted plants move in from the verandah.

English ivy sits on the window sill, Scotch Bonnet pepper sits on the floor.

Within a couple weeks, we’ll get dozens of ripe peppers….

… which we’ll give to relatives and friends. (I’m not a hot-pepper person, despite my Caribbean origins.)

Some days the whole kitchen smells of apples, cinnamon and other ingredients for pies….

…which DO include a tip of Jamaican rum, yes, and maple syrup too, since we’re a Jamaican-Canadian family.

Earlier, it was the fragrance of apple and mint jellies –

And as you can see, they’re still on the kitchen table — recent events having overtaken us…

Some days, the kitchen smells of herbs drying on a tray. Parsley, basil, rosemary and thyme.

And onions and garlic, fresh from the garden….

You’d think the kitchen is the only room in our old house.

It’s a wonder we don’t sleep there as well…

HAPPY HARVEST, EVERYONE (except for friends in S. Africa, New Zealand and Australia…. who for some strange reason are now planting their gardens and welcoming the springtime).

A Good Home, Apples, Autumn, Cooking, Fruit trees, Garden, Homes, Raccoons and fruit trees, Squirrels and Apple trees

Apples and Critters

October 17, 2013November 26, 2013 Cynthia Reyes

Photos by Hamlin Grange

Way out of reach is where the biggest, sweetest fruit always grow. The sweetest guava hangs way out over the middle of a deep pond. The perfect apples are at the top of the tree.

And far below them you stand, wishing you had wings.

That’s what I’m thinking as I gaze up at a bunch of apples near the top of our big old apple tree. A heritage variety, Wolf River, this tree and the one next to it are well over a hundred years old, taller than our two-storey farmhouse, and still going strong. When ripe, the apples are as big as grapefruit, fragrant, with an unusual spicy-sweet-tart taste. Perfect for pies.

Last year, there were hundreds of ripening apples to choose from: enough for birds, squirrels and humans to peacefully share.

But these trees only bear heavily every other year. Since this is their “off year”, it’s a race against the wildlife to get at the fruit first.

If we’re lucky, the wind blows some off the trees in early October. These windfall apples aren’t ripe, but make delicious filling for crepes. Just cut off the bruised parts, slice up the rest and drop it into a hot pot, along with brown sugar, cinnamon and butter. But the very best and biggest apples are those that ripen on the tree. Just two of them could make one pie.

“I’ll use the tall ladder to get them all in a week or so”, my husband says.

“It won’t be tall enough,” I reply.

“Don’t worry,” says my brave guy. “I’ll use the tall ladder, AND a long stick.”

Several days later, I go outside and look straight up at the treetop. The apples are still there, but something doesn’t look right, somehow. It’s like there’s a big dark bundle right above a bunch of apples.

“You should go take a look,” I tell my husband when I come back inside the house.

He goes outside. He comes back and says: “That’s the biggest squirrel nest I’ve ever seen.”

It figures. If you’re a squirrel who likes apples, it makes perfect sense to build your home right at the source of your food.

Squirrels have to eat, after all. But …

“You little creeps!” I hear myself yelling up at the nest.

On the Internet, I learn that squirrels are notorious criminals. They steal pears, peaches and apples. They build their nests right in the trees and get to the fruit before the humans can. This makes fruit tree owners so furious, some have become criminals themselves – moving from trapping to illegally shooting the squirrels. It’s war out there.

Meanwhile, our apples have stopped falling. The remaining ones get bigger and riper every day. I can’t understand why the squirrels haven’t got them yet.

Or my husband, for that matter. There’s no sign of a ladder or stick, or a husband getting ready to pick apples.

But — what if the squirrels have been watching the apples just like we have? Just biding their time? What if they gang up on my poor husband when he’s tottering on a tall ladder, aiming a long stick at the apples right below their nest?

“Let’s just pick the ones you can reach with the stick,” I say one early evening.

Surprisingly, he’s able to pick most of the apples, except for the ones nearest to the squirrel nest. He looks up into the tree, eyeing that bunch wistfully.

“They’re perfect apples,” he says, shaking his head. “Just perfect. Pity…”

We decide to leave them to the squirrels and be thankful for the ones we already have. I’m packing the apples into a basket, when I hear, “What the hell…!”

And an instant after that: “There’s a raccoon up there,” he says, pointing, voice raised. “An enormous raccoon.”

He’s right. It is huge. A grey-black thing, all fur and eyes and tail, looking remarkably comfortable, almost curled around a tree branch. Seems there’s more than squirrels eyeing those apples.