November 1st: Journal

A dark morning suggested that we might again have rain. The sky cleared toward noon, the air mild and damp.

After a hearty late breakfast I lugged upstairs the half bushel of Rome apples purchased last week, rummaged out my remaining pint jars. 

Canning applesauce is a tedious and rather messy process.

Last time I did this was when we lived at our Amish-built farmhouse with its big kitchen and massive wood-fired range. On a cool autumn day I could have several large kettles of apples stewing gently on the back burners of the stove while those already cooked down, put through the Foley mill and into jars boiled away in the canner placed on the hot spot over the firebox. 

During many seasons in our native Vermont, apples were available inexpensively in the next town where a large cold storage facility and apple packaging plant served the region's many orchards.

We could pop in, ask for a bushel or two of MacIntosh, Cortlands or Red Delicious--and for a mere few dollars we had fresh applesauce, pies, crisps or cobblers. 

Grampa Mac was partial to Northern Spy apples as winter keepers.

Several bushels were purchased and stored in their wooden boxes in a north-east room of the old farmhouse--one of the rooms 'shut off' during the winter months. 

As night time temperatures plunged into the minus zero range, the boxes were tenderly snugged under old horse blankets. 

A favorite treat, stopping at Grampa's after school, was the ritual of several apples brought in from the cold north room, peeled and quartered with his jackknife and enjoyed with a stack of Royal Lunch crackers and wedge of cheddar cheese.

Our Beachy neighbors keep some apples in their cooler through early winter, but locally grown apples--southern apples!--don't have the crisp sweet/tart flavor or the keeping qualities of northern apples. 

As for supermarket apples--pricey and often disappointing.

I had nearly decided not to mess with applesauce in my present small kitchen where canning on the electric stove is the only option.

Homemade applesauce is good with pancakes or French toast for a leisurely breakfast or on a chilly winter night as 'breakfast for supper' with the addition of turkey sausage or turkey bacon.

Yield for the half bushel of apples [$12] and hours of labor: 14 pint jars, 1 quart jar and about 2 quarts saved out to eat fresh. 

Stove burners now shut off and jars sitting in the hot water bath kettles. I peeked in, too tired to haul them all out and cover with layers of towels. Some jars have yet to seal--always a concern. 

The lovely pointed bud on Samaritan Jo is unfolding.

I am delighted with the rebloom of this clematis. It bloomed heavily in spring, then the vine looked shabby through the summer. 

A few late roses--surely the last from the pale peach shrub rose--the Double-Red Knock-outs are always the last to succumb to cold weather.

I was downstairs last evening experimenting with a quilt block pattern and a new 'tool' when I heard clattering overhead in the main room.

J. stuck his head round the stairwell to inform me that Rosie-cat had pulled flowers from the jugs, overturning one and creating a flood of water. 

I seem always to have at least one resident feline who is compelled to do that!

Sunday's red sunrise which heralded a day of gentle rain. 

Mornings are slow, still half dark when I raise the blinds; I need a light on in the kitchen to measure water for coffee, to set out mugs and cream. 

When I open the front door, cats crowd onto the small porch, trying to decide if the weather suits them.

There have been days when a morning wood fire is a comfort, others when we turn on the electric heat for a few hours.

November is always a month of transitions--putting away summer clothing, rearranging closet shelves so that warm sweaters and shirts are handy. 

Weather that calls for comfort food--homemade soups, a mug of hot tea mid-afternoon.

Time for a flannel blanket layered under my quilt, a shabby fleece throw spread for the cats at the foot of the bed. 

Still time to enjoy puttering outdoors on a sunny afternoon--now that I have virtuously canned the applesauce!

A final note for the day: energy summoned to unload the canners.

All jars sealed--the last one with a resounding 'pop' as I lifted the lid of the kettle.

Time to check the cats' water bowls, swallow an 'Aleve' for my aching bones and toddle off to bed.