One of my chores as a kid was keeper of the apple barrel.
When we picked apples in the fall, I wrapped them in newspaper and placed them into a barrel in the cellar.
We had several apple trees: Winesap, Jonathan, Maiden’s Blush, McIntosh and something called a Blacktwig which everyone called an Iron Apple because it was so hard when you first picked it you couldn’t bite into it.
The Maiden’s Blush ripened first. The Jonathans weighed in next. The McIntosh, Winesaps and Blacktwigs ripened in October, and it took several evenings and a Saturday to get them all wrapped and into the barrel.
The Blacktwigs went in first since they would be too hard to eat until Christmas. Next came the McIntosh, then the Winesaps. The entire cellar smelled of apples, and until we had a hard freeze, that smell attracted yellow jackets, the most mean-spirited insects on earth. I got stung a lot.
After supper Dad would send me down to get apples for dessert. By early February, the Jonathans and Winesaps were mostly gone, and the McIntosh were showing signs of age.
By March, the Blacktwigs had softened enough to eat. However, they matured at an accelerated rate, and soon started going bad.
For the rest of the winter and into spring, I picked through the barrel and tossed the bad ones. By St. Patrick’s Day there were more bad apples than good ones. By Easter it was all over and the cellar smelled more like vinegar than apples.
We don’t pick apples any more. We get them from the store, and their names are strange and new. Some Winesaps and Jonathans remain, but I haven’t seen a Blacktwig or a Maiden’s Blush in years. I miss them, and I miss the apple barrel.
But I sure don’t miss the yellow jackets.