Apple Picking and Cider Making

The hulking forty-eight inch cider press towered above us and the wind whistled through the open barn doors. It was bone chilling cold inside Mr B.L. Rhodes cider mill and my six and eight year-old siblings’ teeth were chattering despite being bundled up in wool plaid jackets. I was cold too, but as the oldest I was supposed to be helping my father as he arranged for our apples to be pressed, so it wouldn’t do to shiver like the little ones. We had spent all morning crouched down searching for undamaged fruit among the windfall in the abandoned apple... Read more →