Absconded Apples...the back story

It does not happen very often, but this evening I changed my mind. It was not an earth-shaking revelation or a life-altering change, but I decided not to cook the small, organic, aging apples after all. Let me back up. We had picked abandoned apples in Morro Bay from trees in a residential neighborhood of close proximity. Long ago they were carefully planted by someone who knew what they were doing. Eventually some other ignorant persons came by who idiotically bricked them in. At least they had the foresight to keep the trees rather than chop them down when they built apartments all around. Today they are brave modest trees, producing year after year with little appreciation from onlookers I presume judging by the amount left to rot underneath. Bricks! Yes, they were bricked in right up to the trunks so they cannot compost themselves or even allow their roots to breathe properly… and the stench; I have been told by tenants over the years, smells like fermenting hard cider but not in a good way. I haphazardly found these trees serendipitously around five or six years ago when I stopped at an 8’ foot long yard sale on the sidewalk being manned solo by the dad of some unit, who looked like he himself was in time out as he was sitting at the folding table. It was filled with baby clothes and other young childhood sundries: baby walker, baby carrier, board books, miscellaneous baby blankets and the like. I only stopped because I noticed a rather large and new looking backpack on the ground. I pulled over, yep, it was for sale only $5. Thank you very much. I saw the apple tree, or rather the many apples on the ground, and inquired if I might take some. “Fill up your backpack.” he said with an I-don’t-care-what-the-heck-you-do-lady sort of enthusiasm. So, I did. Wow! Did I luck out. Those apples were delicious, and I think they were of the Anna variety, (although I have no idea why I think that) we ate them all raw. They became soft easily, ripening quickly, but had the perfect sweet tart flavor of a fresh apple.

The next year I was driving by and noticed there was another kind of apple too, and the tree was loaded. I pulled over and snooped around some, there are about eight apartments total and after knocking gently on two doors with no answer I saw a man way back in the rear of the property, he looked at me inquisitively. I asked, “Is it okay if I pick apples?” He responded very happily “YES! Take all you want, so many go to waste.” That was all the encouragement I needed, I filled two sacks from two trees. What is it about semi-stolen fruit that makes it taste better? At that time, I realized there was one more tree further back in the center of the buildings, and it was a different variety than the others and the apples, although many and small, hadn’t ripened yet. There were a lot more bricks, and a few rusty patio chairs. I wondered if anyone else bothered with these tiny orbs. A few days later my daughter told me one of her co-workers thought she had recognized me and asked if I had picked apples on her property. My daughter innocently feigned ignorance: however, also admitted she wouldn’t be surprised if it was me. Oh great!... I’d become the notorious Morro Bay apple burglar. Yes, I came back a few weeks later and harvested more from the late producer. Apple-crisps were becoming a regular dessert as was apple butter and apple sauce at our household, nobody complained. Yes, a dollop of vanilla Greek yogurt please.

The next year I became kind of obsessed with scoping out the trees for when the fruit would be ripe. I had figured out the order and was incredibly grateful for someone who decades ago had planned this trio of long harvesting delight. You see, in Coastal California, especially near the ocean, it does not freeze. Apples like a good chill, so for these to be so delicious and prolific means someone really did their research and used varietals which could handle the mediocre winters and cool summers. Hooray for me! I picked many boxes over several weeks and even months from those lovely trees. Once I got caught by a local contractor I knew, so I offered him some and he gladly took the booty and never scolded me. I saw other folks too, residents mostly, look at me and I cheerily spoke with them about how lovely the fruit was, they all knew I didn’t live there but told me plainly they were glad the fruit was getting used. I tried to clean up the bricks also, discarding the rotting apples into the neighbor’s next-door yard with rough grass and happy bugs. By now I had brought my husband in on the caper, and he was incredibly happy absconding with the spoils because apple pie was his favorite dessert. We made quite a few of those while singing the “pie song” as well as more applesauce and apple butter which we canned for Christmas gifts.

This year we have only visited the trees twice. We do not live in Morro Bay anymore, and it’s a little sad when I think of all the fruit that is probably rotting on the bricks making a smelly mess. And the last of the apples we picked have done well in the fridge for weeks and weeks waiting for their grand finale. Two days ago, I sauced five of them in the blender with a squirt of apple juice and poured it on top of the cinnamon-raisin French toast. That was yummy. And I noticed there was one rather disgusting spoiled apple in the bottom of the bag and the rest weren’t going to make it much longer. I planned on baking something that day. And I planned on baking something yesterday. Then finally today I picked out the good ones and began to wash and chop them into a nice half-inch dice, for something. I was thinking of apple pandowdy, but I don’t really know what that is exactly, and I was thinking of making a pie, but that’s too much trouble, and I thought of apple crisp again and even got out the dry ingredients for the crumble when I changed my mind. Cooked apples (or any fruit for that matter) are not good for our tummies. They turn to acid and have little nutritional once heated. All the extra empty calories from butter and sugar won’t help our waistlines either. The true life of fruit is in its rawness and so I carefully placed the three pounds or so of lovely, diced pieces into a zip-lock and put them back in the fridge. I had munched a few already while chopping, I was both hungry and tired, so I think is what helped sway my opinion of their final hoorah. I am satisfied and pleased that after all these years I made one more healthy decision for my family.

A HAPPY SONG ABOUT APPLE BLESSINGS:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_IrdS-zu48