FRIED COFFEE

My God-parents, Roscoe and Dorothy Martin,  passed this year but left me with memories that carry me to a time when all things were dreams yet to be explored.  It was 1958.  World War II and Korea had ended, and as I look back I realize everyone was buoyant because they had survived the two conflicts and the future looked full of promise.  From 1937 to 1945 Hell was loose as WW II wrung the life out of people around the globe.  Three more years of fighting from 1950 to 1953  in Korea; then peace.  Finally.

Here, in my cabin, so many years later I close my eyes and once again I am a 12 year old boy running through Roscoe’s apple orchard.  It’s October. The extended family has gathered at the little farm to celebrate life .  Aunts, uncles, cousins.  They have come in big black, clunky automobiles with all kinds of food to be set out on long tables.  The adults are glad to be together, laughing and drinking.  It’s a reunion.  The country air is crisp  and I can almost smell winter.  It is enchanting.  We run and play amidst bundled corn stalks  and there is a pit fire to warm us.  A magical time with pale blue skies and wispy mare’s tail clouds.

The real magic, however, lies inside an oak barrel in the cellar that has a wooden tap at the bottom.

A week earlier Roscoe had gathered the apples from the orchard and carted them down the road to a farmer neighbor with an apple press and returned with the juice which then sat in that barrel waiting for us to arrive.

I loved that cider.  Sitting here with my eyes  still closed I taste the zing of it and feel the slight bubbles as I swallow.  It was heaven.  My tongue danced and I was reluctant to let it pass my mouth;  yet eager for more.  I was happy.  Filled to the brim with the joy of youth and new experiences.  I am happy now; a slight smile on my face as I relive that gentle memory.  Thank you, both.

My dad had a friend we visited with frequently who had his own fall ritual.  Pumpkin Jack.  He had hollowed out a pumpkin into which went raisins and other mysterious ingredients.  The top of the pumpkin was reset and wax dripped on it to form a seal.  Poking out of the upper side of said pumpkin was a plastic tube which trailed to a can of water.  This was pretty exotic stuff  so sneaking a taste was mandatory.   Remember I was 12 years old and had cider on my mind.   YECHHH !!

It would be many years before I would acquire the sophistication to enjoy such things but the memories of those times  -  well ……….  they continue to age in the barrel and and waft through my consciousness on cool fall days.

“Now’s the time when children’s noses
All become as red as roses
And the colour of their faces
Makes me think of orchard places
Where the juicy apples grow,
And tomatoes in a row.”
-   Katherine Mansfield, Autumn Song

“As autumn returns to earth’s northern hemisphere,
and day and night are briefly,
but perfectly,
balanced at the equinox,
may we remember anew how fragile life is —-
human life, surely,
but also the lives of all other creatures,
trees and plants,
waters and winds.

May we make wise choices in how and what we harvest,
may earth’s weather turn kinder,
may there be enough food for all creatures,
may the diminishing light in our daytime skies
be met by an increasing compassion and tolerance
in our hearts.”
-   Kathleen Jenks, Autumn Lore