Last night I made apple crisp from the apples in our yard. The six espaliered trees are full this year. I wish I could find the scrap of paper I jotted their names on but it has gone missing like so many other notes. I peeled them and sampled and tried to discern their varieties and my mind drifted back to some of my favorite childhood memories. My dad would be sitting on a stool in our “breezeway” with buckets of apples around him. We would be gathered around like hungry baby birds. He would pull out his well-worn trusty pocket knife, the one offered to cut my umbilical cord with, and peel and slice the apples and pass them around. Often he would tell us the names. I loved this part, thinking of each name and trying to tell the difference in taste alone. The names still resonate with me: Gravenstein, Cortland, Banana (imagine! An apple named Banana!), Delicious, Grimes Golden, Jonathan, Yellow Transparent, Northern Spy, and my personal favorite, King- large and beautifully multicolored, sweet and crunchy. My grandmothers would be there, and my siblings, and any visiting relatives or friends. Sometimes the apples had worms or bruises or bad spots and my dad would cut around them, salvaging as much as he could, never wanting any to go to waste. The peels and cores would pile up in another bucket, ready to be carted to the compost pile. It was usually fall with a bite in the air and leaves falling in the yard but I felt safe and full and happy and loved, the sweet crunch of apples in my mouth.
Today I am making tomato sauce and pear bread and I am thinking of my mom and the many hours she spent in the kitchen. My new Kitchen Aid mixer gets used some but to me it is the tangible reminder of my mom. She spent hours in the kitchen making bread and cookies and thousands of meals. Those same apples from my dad made gallons of applesauce, both “lumpy” and “smooth” to satisfy her picky kids. I remember seeing the huge bowls of sweet applesauce with a swirl of cinnamon on top and thinking they just appeared by magic, and knowing today how many hours of gathering, washing, cutting and cooking it took to make them appear. She canned all she could, pickles, tomatoes, pears, peaches, applesauce in old mason jars with wire closures. The pressure cooker always scared me, but I would dutifully watch it when instructed to make sure the dial stayed at the correct pressure. The cupboards were full of the colorful jars, all lined up and ready to be enjoyed. Later in life my parents discovered drying and the food dryer was always full of apples, pears, prunes, and fruit leather- ready snacks for the growing grandchildren.
Yesterday on a visit with my mom, another resident told me, “This lady sure loves to eat! I don’t think there’s anything she won’t eat!” and my mom chimed in with “Now, don’t be tattling on me!” and I explained how my mom was so happy to have other people fix her food and do the dishes after years of cooking for so many. And I do think that is true but I seldom remember my mom complaining. I whine about cooking one or two meals for three people several times a week and she cooked for eight or more three times a day- full meals, no shortcuts, no convenience food. Some of my fondest memories are sitting on the kitchen counter, my legs hitting the metal cupboards below, watching my mom do her magic.
Our raspberries vines are still full of berries and I am trying to pick them before they mold and I feel lucky to have this bounty. But more importantly, I cherish the bounty of love my parents provided to me, food for the body and food for the soul.
Yesterday I did the Great Columbia Crossing in Astoria, Oregon. My sis Rachel joined me and we walked over the Astoria/Megler bridge along with thousands of others. It was 27th annual 10K walk and run but a first for us. It started at Dismal Nitch on the Washington side of the river and then went over the huge bridge 
and down into the port of Astoria. At the end, shuttle buses took us to Astoria high school for clam chowder and fixings and then another shuttle bus took us back to the parking lot. It was a perfect day for it, slightly cloudy and slightly cool but a gorgeous view of the river.
