Apple Pies
Yesterday while baking out a frozen apple pie from the 169 vendor, it sure took me back.
Right back to the Boon Lake Township farm. We had quite the variety going on in barns, pens and pastures. We had free range chickens and free range kids.
Kevin and Carrie had the run of the farm yard for play. If I could spot the the kids out of the corner of my eye . . . all was well. This time of the year it would have been time to get apples off of the trees while they were in their prime. Of course, more fell from the limbs that hung heavy than one person could keep track of. Called into duty were the two that were short and easily bent from the waist to fill their small pails.
Orlin and I had invested in two Sears chest type freezers that easily fit into the furnace room of the basement. Freezing pared and sliced apples in quart bags and apple pies ready for baking took up a goodly portion of one of the freezers. It was no small job getting those apples and pies ready to put into one of those freezers. Orlin was working shift work at 3M in Hutchinson. While Orlin slept the kids and I kept busy outside especially during his 11pm to morning shift. It was surprising how many apples the kids and I could have ready for processing while the house would be quiet for sleeping.
We went through a good amount of our rendered lard to make up pie crusts for 8 inch foil tins. I would give each of the kids a bit of the pie dough to play with, so I could work up and roll out the crusts and get the tins ready. The kids took turns filling the crusts with the prepared apples. Five second rules counted. I followed with adding the sugar and cinnamon. Getting the top crusts on and trimmed without a lot of extra help was easier said than done.
In the end it was very satisfying to see the pies in the freezer, each in their plastic sleeve. Farm life could get busy and a baked apple pie in short order was always a treat.
Oh, what I would give to have some of those times back. Where did all that energy go. The energy for that type of lifestyle might be gone, but the memories . . . just as crisp as one of those apples.