By Kristie Snyder,
John Chapman would be pleased. You might know him by another name -— Johnny Appleseed. The eccentric frontiersman had much to do with making cider a household staple in Expansionist America — author Michael Pollan called him the "American Dionysus."
The apple has deep roots in our region -— the Native Americans were growing apples, obtained through trade with Europeans, on the rich soils of the Finger Lakes before Chapman was even born. When General John Sullivan's "campaign" of destruction visited Haudenosaunee villages in the Finger Lakes in 1779, his soldiers were impressed by the large orchards of apples and other fruits -— which they proceeded to chop down and burn.
Two hundred years after Chapman's time, cider is making a reappearance on American tables. When I say cider, I mean hard cider, not the sweet, fresh-pressed stuff beloved by children. America's favorite beverage pre-Prohibition, hard cider in its modern incarnation is better compared to wine. It's fermented from the juice of apples grown specifically for cider — apples grown for their sugar, acid and tannin content — and can result in a product that ranges from sweet to dry, sparkling to still, from barely alcoholic to around ten percent alcohol. As with wine, the best way to find out what you like is to taste.
By Tina Wright
Jackie Merwin, who has harvested fruit with her husband Ian on Black Diamond Farm in Trumansburg since the late 1990s, has never seen anything like the weather last spring. A heat wave in March (which one national weatherman called "like science fiction") put northern fruit trees in a blooming state of mind, right before a series of frosts that ended with a brutal hard freeze the last weekend of April. Local orchards were hard hit.
Merwin explains, "Since things were in bloom [when the freeze hit], we have no cherries, no peaches, no plums, no pears or apricots, we got completely frozen out of all those things ... people keep asking for a number on the apples and I'm thinking maybe 30 percent is what we'll have of our normal crop. I think I'm going to sell all of that at the Farmers Market."
Andy Rizos, GreenStar's Produce Manager, winces at this news. Black Diamond Farm has been a major supplier of apples for GreenStar. "This is going to affect us tremendously because they [Black Diamond] can get a lot more at the Farmers Market than they can here."
Fruit Growers News reports big losses in apple orchards in Michigan as well as New York State this season. Michigan may produce only 11 percent of last year's crop, and fuzzy guesstimates on New York production anticipate less than half of last year's apple volume.
Getting a good supply of local apples will be a challenge this year. GreenStar apple growers report a wide range of harvest forecasts. Organic apple growers at Hemlock Grove Farm in West Danby expect only 20 percent of last year's crop, while folks at Grisamore Farms in Locke are optimistic that they'll harvest around 75 percent of a typical apple crop..
By Joe Romano,
The metaphor of the melting pot is unfortunate and misleading. A more accurate analogy would be a salad bowl, for, though the salad is an entity, the lettuce can still be distinguished from the chicory, the tomatoes from the cabbage.
— Carl Neumann DeglerFood is social. It is shared by friends, family, and community. It represents one's culture and even has its own meaning. So what does it say when people don't share food, or when people disagree about how to eat? Or even when it polarizes people?
We are used to political disagreements; in fact, we can barely understand people of "that other" political party, whichever it may be. We seem to happily divide ourselves into nations and neighborhoods and draw up borders at cultural, racial, and class boundaries, too. We have to admit that somehow it comforts us to classify things — even people, sorting them like socks as alike and different. And somehow food is right there in the mix — think, for example, how many insults and slurs refer to what people eat.
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New in Produce
|Thanks, Life is Good|
Giving thanks doesn't end in November. The local bounty continues with root veggies, apples, cider, and trees.
This month I intended loquacious prose built upon the ever-busy world, intertwined with our local experience of cold, winter, snow, and beauty, but it just didn't sit. It seems like every month in this space I ask that we enjoy and respect our liberties and freedoms, spiritual, emotional, physical, or otherwise. It doesn't change from month to month or even day to day — every minute, every second is important to look upon and be thankful for and reflect and exist in. During the holiday months, it's especially important to realize how we act and who we are, because the consumption of product can be blinding and unrelenting. I'm thankful for this region, its people, its farms, and our Co-op: this month that means Remembrance Farm's rainbow carrots, Stick and Stone's mixed root vegetables, The Good Life Farm's bagged mixed winter greens, Black Diamond's brilliant heirloom apples, and Littletree's delicious cider. And, holiday trees! I am thankful.