Apple production line
Another warm, still day so we got the ladders out, climbed onto the shed roof and picked two bucketfuls of Bramley apples from the tree in our garden. It’s showing its age and is a bit higgledy piggledy but still crops well and this year’s fruit are enormous.
I selected the ones with perfect skins, no bruises or blemishes and wrapped them up in newspaper to store in a box in the garage; they should keep for a good few weeks if not months.
For the rest, I’m making the most of the late September sunshine and am sitting outside, peeling and chopping to cook them down to a purée for bottling (canning) later. Robins are singing, the chickens are sat in a row on their favourite perch, preening their feathers in the sun and the children next door are giggling hysterically as they play some surreal game of their own invention whose rules I cannot fathom.
If you’re single, my grandmother told me that if you can peel an apple in one long strip and throw it over your shoulder as you walk away, it will spell the initial of the person you’re going to marry.