Forget baseball, it’s just a bunch of millionaires running around in a circle. Hot dogs are full of toxic elements. And the bald eagle, while a majestic site indeed, is actually a bit of a scavenger and bully. There is one symbol that all Americans can embrace, one icon that is known and loved by millions. It is that most democratic of fruit: I give you the apple.
Think about it. Unlike the flag, no one is campaigning to pass legislation on whether you can burn an apple or not. In fact, setting the apple to flame may be one of the highest compliments you can pay to the luscious fruit, bringing out the sugars which meld beautifully with cinnamon. The apple is as diverse as the country itself. At last count, there were more than 7,500 varieties, and new varieties are being cross-pollinated every year. Many of us learned our first lessons in capitalism as we tried, usually in vain, to swap the apples in our lunches for something better down the table. And maybe we learned a little bit about politics, too, as we shined them and gingerly set them on the teacher’s desk.
Where would our country be without the Big Apple? One theory is that the nickname was coined by jazz greats like Charlie Parker because Manhattan was known for having “lots of apples on the tree,” that is, lots of jumping jazz joints. Our affection for apple pie is legendary and timeless, but during the Depression, to save money and stretch ingredients, hard-pressed Americans would make it with just a bottom crust. Only more affluent families could afford apple pies with an “upper crust.” And does anybody not know how to “keep the doctor away”? The apple’s lofty place in our culture is well preserved in the language, too—from “the apple of your eye” to a certain personal computer with a cultish and loyal following.
In a pie, sauce, or fritter, peeled or unpeeled, smothered with caramel or left fresh, crisp and clean, we all have our apple preferences. In fact, last year the average American consumed 16 pounds of fresh apples and 29 pounds of processed apples (juices, ciders, apple products, and so on). Grown in every state in the continental United States, most apple orchards are in Washington, New York, and Michigan. We rank second only to China among the top apple-producing countries of the world. Last year, our total apple production was about 230 million cartons, valued at around $1.5 billion. Of that crop, 25 percent of the total fresh-market crop was exported to countries like Mexico, Canada, Taiwan, and Indonesia.
Like most things American, the roots of the original apple tree lie elsewhere. Some believe the apple is as old as temptation itself, owing to the story of the Garden of Eden. Most agree that the apple originated somewhere in the Caucasus region between the Black and Caspian seas, today known as Kazakhstan, where 300-year-old, 50-foot trees still bloom. This area was a well known stop on the silk trade route, and it’s likely that travelers filched wild apples and traded the seeds. Eventually, the domesticated apple evolved, and was subsequently spread through the world by the Romans. A few varieties and practices were lost with the fall of the Romans, but many more were saved, thanks to the orcharding customs of Christian monks. Further east, Muslims, too, preserved the traditions of cultivation through the tenets of Islam, which explicitly encourage botany.
As the apple came to the New World with the settlers, new legends and traditions sprang up. The simple and good-hearted apple farmer John Chapman of Leominster, Massachusetts became famous in the 1800s for distributing apple seeds and trees to settlers in budding frontier territories like Ohio, Indiana, and beyond. The myth—and the Disney portrayal—has Johnny Appleseed roaming the sunny countryside wearing ragged clothes and, oddly, a tin pot as a hat. A true American hero.
Whatever region you travel to in this country, you’re sure to find different varieties you’ve never seen before. The Ginger Gold, currently cultivated in Virginia, owes its existence to hurricane Camille, the 1969 storm that destroyed much of the orchard of Clyde and Ginger Harvey. Many years later, they discovered a tree grown from a seed that had been blown into the orchard from somewhere else, a tree unlike they had seen before. By the early 80s the tree had born fruit, and they realized they had a unique and delicious new variety on their hands. They promptly named it after the lady of the house.
Ginger Gold is known as an up-and-comer, as is the locally created Honeycrisp. Minnesota orchards are known for a distinctive assortment of apples that are rare or absent from the rest of the country, apples like the Fireside, Wealthy, Prairie Spy, Haralson, Red Baron, and Honeygold to name a few. Haralson, with its crisp tartness, is probably our most popular, but Honeycrisp is creating a buzz both locally and internationally. In fact, it’s probably the most talked about variety in the country at the moment. Introduced in 1991 by a University of Minnesota research team, it’s a cross of Macoun and Honeygold varieties. Crisp and very flavorful, Honeycrisps usually ripen around the end of September or the beginning of October.
The other thing Minnesota orchards are known for is good old Midwestern fun. The absolute best way to spend a bright fall day is to haul the family out to one of the locally owned orchards. It’s almost impossible to find one that doesn’t have hayrides, ciderfests, jumping goats, pick-your-own, and—of course—a corn maze. (If you can get to Aamodt’s, in particular, they have a killer ciderbrat with an onion/apple relish that is sweet and tart—an inimitable autumn treat.) It’s good to sit under the autumn sky, cider in one hand, an apple-brat in the other, supporting your local farmers and being a red-blooded American.
Local Orchards near
the metro area
North: Pine tree Apple Orchard
White Bear Lake
(651) 429-7202
South: Appleside Orchard
Highway 3
Farmington
(651) 463-2505
East: Aamodt’s Apple Farm
Hwy 36 & Manning Ave (Cty 15)
Stillwater
(651) 439-3127
West: Apple Jack Orchards, Inc.
4875 37th St SE
Delano
(612) 972-6673
Stephanie March is a regular contributor to The Rake.
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