I’m not sure when it started, maybe when he published his book Apples and the Art of Detection in 2019 or maybe it was well before that, but for the past few years, whenever John explains to individuals and groups about grafting old apple trees, he invokes the image of the relay runner passing the baton from one hand to the next. As he envisions it, the baton is the scion wood taken from a tree nurtured by one generation and used to create another tree to be nurtured by the next. It is an act that ensures continuity and creates a bounty of opportunities.
After 16 years exploring the world of apples through Out on a Limb CSA, we are ready to pass our own baton to the next generation of apple lovers. We’ve been searching for the right people to take the helm - people who love all things apple, who appreciate the weird and unusual, who think a great afternoon is one spent foraging for wild apples, who have filled their yard with apple trees because they love looking at the colors and shapes and want to get to know them better, and who know what to do with the apples that need to be cooked or pressed or dried. We wanted people who weren’t afraid of heights. (Ok, they needed some organizational, tech and communication skills too.) Finally we have found them. Khris and Lizzie Hogg have been working with us for the past two years learning the ropes. They’ve experienced all the workings of the CSA - picking, packing, delivering, marketing; and this week they have organized the whole shebang. They are even writing the newsletter, except for this introduction. We’re so excited.
Be sure that you’re not getting rid of us completely. We’ll still be around to lend a hand, advise (if asked), fill any gaps, and hopefully keep providing new and unusual apple varieties for the CSA. Spreading apple knowledge and love remains our passion, and less picking and packing will mean more time for other apple projects. We started Out on a Limb CSA 16 years ago - almost as a whim. We had no notion that it would nourish us as much as it has nourished the love of apples in the 170 households that have participated every year. Thank you so much for all your apple enthusiasm. We’ve thoroughly enjoyed the journey. John & Cammy
Picks of the week:
(Click each variety for more info)
Ananas Reinette waiting to be packed into your bags.
People have often asked me what made me get so interested in apples. There wasn’t one moment in particular, but I do remember the names being part of it. I remember pawing through a Fedco Trees catalog, and devouring not so much the names of the apples themselves, but the sheer number and diversity of them, reveling in the idea that each one opened up a different flavor, a different appearance, a different use, a different history, as well as the implication that what I was looking at was just a tiny selection of all the apples that had been selected and named over time, many of which may still be out there somewhere, ready to be rediscovered.
But the question of how to describe the expression of an apple seed isn’t just something our ancestors ironed out long ago; it’s something we still encounter today. When we’re not picking and packing the CSA we spend most of our fall foraging wild apples for cider. Almost all of these trees have grown naturally from seed, meaning that their apples are genetically unique. They haven’t yet become a “variety.” But what that really means is that no one has named it (we think) and introduced it to others as such. And so each year we often find ourselves in the same position as many curious apple lovers of years past, standing under a tree, holding an unnamed apple that we think is pretty good and worth sharing, considering its various qualities, its location, maybe the circumstance that led us to visit that tree on that day, and wondering: what should this be called?
This week’s share is a good survey of some approaches people throughout time have taken to answering that question, although if you went by name alone, you’d be forgiven for wondering where the apples even are. We’ve got two pearmains (Blue and Gray), two different tropical fruits (Winter Banana and Ananas Reinette), and a cow (Holstein).
Starting with the pearmains: we know that over the past several centuries there have been at least a few dozen apples that have included the term in their name. But depending who you ask, you’ll likely get a different explanation as to what “pearmain” actually means. The two most popular theories suggest it’s either an evolution of the medieval words for “great pear,” an allusion to apples with a pear-like flavor or shape, or, if you follow the etymology further back, you’ll encounter the Old French “parmaindre” for “to endure,” viewed as an endorsement of the apple’s storage abilities. That said, if you lined up all the “pearmains” side by side, you’d probably notice that not all are shaped like or taste like pears, nor are all of them incredible keepers. What we can say, from our modern vantage point, is that it’s safe to view “pearmain” as shorthand for an exceptionally full-flavored, often visually stunning apple.
Blue Pearmain is almost too gorgeous to eat. We’ve given you multiple so that you can choose one to stare at until it rots sometime in midwinter and eat the rest in the meantime. It’s a New England classic that charmed Thoreau and most everyone else after him. Often recommended as a baking apple—see the recipe below—though we also enjoy eating them out of hand.
Gray Pearmain is a different story. More crisp and sprightly, you can more easily imagine its “pear-like” qualities. Ready to eat now, but will mellow into something even better if you can hang on to them for a bit. Gray Pearmain is believed to be a Maine original from Skowhegan or thereabouts. Recent DNA testing has suggested the Early American variety Tolman Sweet as one of its parents (most evident in the color).
But let’s say you want to name an apple that you don’t think tastes like pears and isn’t renowned for its storage qualities; maybe you’re more taken with its tropical notes. Enter Ananas Reinette. This first-time addition to the CSA is pronounced like “Sha-Na-Na,” with a silent “s” at the end. The full name roughly translates to “Royal Pineapple” or “Pineapple Princess.” Ananas Reinette is thought to have originated in France or perhaps the Netherlands, somewhere between 200 and 500 years ago. It’s difficult to determine when Ananas first appeared in the United States, though the USDA’s watercolor of it dates to 1900 and there are several varieties bred during the first half of the 20th century that may include it in their parentage. We obtained ours from Scott Farm in Dummerston,VT where they grow dozens of rare apples from around the world. We recommend the electric yellow-green, conspicuously dotted fruit for fresh eating.
Also from Scott Farm is Holstein. Though many northern New Englanders may assume some sort of bovine connection, Holstein is simply named for its place of origin in Holstein, Germany (to our knowledge it is rarely—if ever—colored black and white). It dates to 1918 and may be a seedling of the famous English apple Cox’s Orange Pippin. Firm, tart, and richly flavored, we offer it for fresh eating.
Finally, Winter Banana. As the old SNL character Linda Richman would say: Winter Banana is neither ripe in winter nor a banana: discuss. Originally from Indiana circa 1876, it’s now grown across the country, particularly in the Pac Northwest, where its valued as much for its eating quality as for its uniquely powerful pollen. A rare self-fertile apple. Of all the varieties in this week’s share, Winter Banana is the most delicate in texture and flavor. Try it fresh or in an apple crisp. Its name is a testament to the power of suggestion: many people take a bite, furrow their brow, and try to gauge how much banana flavor they detect. Our guess is that you won’t detect very much at all and that the “banana” in “Winter Banana” is more likely a reference to its yellow color.
-Khris Hogg
Our apples come to you straight from the tree, so, as with all fresh produce, please be sure to wash them thoroughly before eating. Some of the apples are grown using Integrated Pest Management by the orchards we collaborate with throughout Maine, and some are organically grown here on Super Chilly Farm.
Recipe of the Week
Acorn-stuffed apples
Perhaps you’ve heard the saying: “what grows together goes together.” When we look at the fall landscape, that idea leads us to apples and acorns. If you’re not familiar, acorns have been a staple food source for people living in the presence of oak trees for thousands of years, and this year seems to be the second mast year in a row, so it’s a great opportunity to put a new twist on an old favorite. The recipe below is just as much a brief description of how to easily process acorns for eating as it is a recipe for a baked apple filling or crisp topping that can be interpreted for a variety of baked apple desserts.
Ingredients:
4 Blue Pearmain apples
1 c. acorns – any oak will do, although shareholders in southern ME would do well to seek out White Oak rather than Red. Avoid any with a visible hole in the shell; these will have weevils and can’t be used.
1/2 c. rolled oats
1 stick butter, cut into ½” cubes
½ c. maple syrup
¼ tsp sea salt
Cinnamon or other baking spices to taste
To process the acorns, place one flat side down/pointed end up on a sturdy cutting board. Give it a couple firm taps with a hammer to split the shell then use your thumbs to pry open the shell and separate the nut. If it doesn’t come out easily, you may need to dry your acorns in a low oven or dehydrator overnight and try again.
Once the nuts are shelled, use a knife—at this stage they’re too hard for a food processor—to chop them into pieces ¼” or smaller, dump into a half gallon jar or mixing bowl, and cover with water. The goal here is to leach the bitter tannin from the acorns in order to render them eatable; if the pieces are too large, the leaching won’t quite work.
Drain and replace the water as frequently as you can remember, at least once a day for a few days. At that point you can taste and decide if there’s any tannin left. If there is, it will be unmistakable. Keep going until the acorn tastes like a nut, or until there’s a scant amount of bitterness you’re willing to live with (trace amounts won’t upset anything and will be masked by the other ingredients).
Once you’ve got palatable nuts, strain off the water, set the acorns on a plate or baking sheet to air-dry. Combine with the rest of the ingredients and briefly work the mixture together with your hands to distribute the butter.
Core the apples, leaving the bottom intact. Scoop out the seeds, making a bowl-shaped cavity inside the apple. A melon-baller works well for this.
Place the cored apples in a baking pan and fill the cavities with the acorn stuffing.
Cover the baking pan with foil or lid and bake at 375 for 40 minutes. Remove the foil, add any extra filling to the apple cavities, and bake 15-20 minutes more. The apples are ready when the fork pushes easily into the flesh.
Allow the apples to cool for 5 minutes before serving with fresh whipped cream, ice cream, or a sweet cider reduction. If there is any juice bubbling in the dish when you take them out of the oven, you can also add some sweet cider to this to make a quick sauce for drizzling. These are also excellent with a pour of ice cider. We recommend any of the ice ciders from Absolem Cider Company in Winthrop when they’re in stock.