So, the Young Man (actually, he's now in his late thirties; time has flown) has become interested in brewing and started out with mead, using local wildflower honey and blackberries that were picked on the premises. It sat in a small carboy, thumping away in the airlock, for a few weeks, and then was transferred to an oak cask that he got over the Internet, for mellowing. It turned out really well, and his friends are praising his work.
I could see he was ready for more, so I mentioned the trees are still groaning with apples for cider. "You pick and process, and I'll kibitz. There are thousands of apples still out there, of five varieties -- they're hanging on late and looking good. Also quince," I added, "which might brighten the flavor a bit, seeing as we don't have crabapples."
This proposal met with his enthusiastic approbation, so a day was set aside for the adventure. First, he gathered a basket from each of five apples (Honeycrisp, Cortland, Gala, Granny Smith and DunnoButPrettyGood) and one Pineapple Quince.
These we shredded into pomace into a tub.
From six full baskets we felt we would get sufficient juice to make three gallons. Well, really seven baskets -- we hit the IDunno tree twice, as its rather small apples promised flavor returns.
We hoisted the pomace and let gravity do its thing. This makes about half the juice you would get from an expensive press, but the chickens get the rich juice and make it into other useful stuff, some of which is eggs.
Note the conspicuous lack of yellowjackets for a change, which usually cover everything in sight on cider day. A low of 25F will do that. I have been known to cider in the garage, to get away from a mixture of wildfire smoke and yellowjackets. It turns out, if they are not protecting the nest, they are pretty mellow and I actually kind of missed them.
Beloved helped the Young Man pump the cider into his carboy.
It made the three gallons and then some. He added slices of Honeycrisp to add some excitement for the natural yeasts that live on the peelings.
There was enough left over for a quick bit of canning, which is how I roll.
The Young Man then made an offering of the pomace to one of the medlar trees.
No, this isn't too close to the trunk. The hens will do the spreading.
These we shredded into pomace into a tub.
From six full baskets we felt we would get sufficient juice to make three gallons. Well, really seven baskets -- we hit the IDunno tree twice, as its rather small apples promised flavor returns.
We hoisted the pomace and let gravity do its thing. This makes about half the juice you would get from an expensive press, but the chickens get the rich juice and make it into other useful stuff, some of which is eggs.
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| Never lift more than your old bedsheet will carry. |
Beloved helped the Young Man pump the cider into his carboy.
It made the three gallons and then some. He added slices of Honeycrisp to add some excitement for the natural yeasts that live on the peelings.
There was enough left over for a quick bit of canning, which is how I roll.
The Young Man then made an offering of the pomace to one of the medlar trees.
No, this isn't too close to the trunk. The hens will do the spreading.
Three days later I called him up. "Your carboy is thumping."
"No, really?? I thought it would take three weeks with the natural yeast."
"Maybe natural likes you? So, come over next week, we can watch bubbles."
A generous and trustworthy mind is like a spring breeze that warms and enlivens. The ten thousand beings encountering it thrive. -- Hong Zicheng
"No, really?? I thought it would take three weeks with the natural yeast."
"Maybe natural likes you? So, come over next week, we can watch bubbles."
A generous and trustworthy mind is like a spring breeze that warms and enlivens. The ten thousand beings encountering it thrive. -- Hong Zicheng
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Stony Run Farm: Life on One Acre