Apple Dumpling Gang

by Janet Scouten 

On my birthday weekend, the family and I made a daytrip up to the mountains of North Carolina to go apple picking. Aside from the fact that I had turned (ack…ack…) 36, it was an absolutely glorious day.

As we drove to aptly-named Sky Top Orchard, following signs up the steep, narrow, twisting and turning road, our kids yelled gleefully from the backseat, “We’re going to the top of the sky! We’re going to the top of the sky!”

But when we finally reached our destination—not quite the top of the sky, but close—the number of parked cars, minivans and SUVs was almost beyond comprehension. In my mind, a huge crowd didn’t bode well for a cozy family day of apple picking. Instead I imagined a mosh pit of kids, grownups, apples and baskets, with elbows and knees flying as everyone scrambled for the last available apple.

Thankfully, I was wrong.

Because, even though the parking lot was quite full, that orchard was more than big enough to accommodate every last kid with a basket—and then some. (Phew!)

Once we had our bushel basket in hand, we got down to the serious business of picking some serious apples. This amazing orchard had every variety under the sun: Gala, Honey Crisp, Red Delicious, McIntosh, Red Rome, Granny Smith, Pink Lady, Arkansas Black, Blushing Gold and more. And the further we traveled from that parking lot, the heavier those trees were with their gorgeous fruit.

And can I just say that I love the smell of apples? I love the smell of them on a crisp, cool day with a mountain backdrop of turning leaves. And I even love the smell of overripe, smashed apples on the ground, crushed under the heels of little children as they eagerly reach up for the bounteous harvest. Yes, I love the smell of apples.

So why is it that, after biting into that perfect fruit, I was so amazed to discover just how very, very good it tasted? I mean—truth be told—I usually prefer my apples in the form of a pie, with maybe a little vanilla ice cream on the side. But these apples—oh, my—these apples were sweet and fresh and juicy and…simply magnificent. They weren’t your typical dried-out, old grocery store apples, sitting in cold-storage for months on end before they ever saw a produce sticker. They were new and wonderful and at the peak of ripeness. And we ate them like maniacs.

Once we got back home that evening, our bellies full of apples and cider and warm apple-cider doughnuts (oh, did I not mention the apple-cider doughnuts?), I promised the boys I’d make them a batch of apple dumplings. You see, earlier in the week, we’d watched the classic children’s movie, The Apple Dumpling Gang (a 1975 Western starring Tim Conway and Don Knotts, complete with ragamuffin kids and hi-jinks galore), and we were all eager to partake of the movie’s namesake dessert.

So, as I stood in my kitchen the next day, peeling and coring those perfect specimens of appledom, I found myself snacking on the crisp, long, curling peels. I even picked up a few of the cores and nibbled my way around them like corn-on-the-cob, eager to savor every last morsel. And let me assure you, I don’t normally get that excited over fruit. But these apples were just. that. good.

And it reminded me of a book I’d read over the summer, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle­—a non-fiction account of a family’s first year on a farm. I was quickly drawn into the author’s descriptions of each season’s bounty—the tender asparagus stalks in the early spring, perfect, red tomatoes in the summer, and–yes–sweet, juicy apples in the fall.

In addition to describing the beauty of farm life, the author also discussed how we’ve become so accustomed in our modern world to having whatever we want whenever we want it. Asparagus in January? No problem! They’ll just ship it up from Argentina. Strawberries in November? Sure! That’s what California is for.

The point seemed to be that this trend lessens our appreciation for the small miracles that each season of the year—and, indeed, each season of life—can bring. Sure, we can get strawberries in November, but how good are those strawberries, anyway? We’ve all had them. They’re pretty enough to look at, but watery and bland to the taste, and nothing at all like a ripe strawberry fresh from the garden.

The author took her point one step further, saying we want to raise our children to show restraint as teenagers, but that, culturally, we feed on a diet of instant gratification, “cheapening our sustenance with wholesale desires.”

Wow. Point well taken.

It’s a simple truth, really, but one that is so easy to forget: God’s timing is the very best timing.

And nothing puts this better than Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, in which we learn:

To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven:
      A time to be born,
And a time to die;
      A time to plant,
And a time to pluck what is planted;
      A time to kill,
And a time to heal;
      A time to break down,
And a time to build up;
      A time to weep,
And a time to laugh;
      A time to mourn,
And a time to dance;
      A time to cast away stones,
And a time to gather stones;
      A time to embrace,
And a time to refrain from embracing;
      A time to gain,
And a time to lose;
      A time to keep,
And a time to throw away;
      A time to tear,
And a time to sew;
      A time to keep silence,
And a time to speak;
      A time to love,
And a time to hate;
      A time of war,
And a time of peace.

Apparently, there is even a time to eat apples. 

Thank the Lord for that!

 

(Click on the Palmetto Family Recipes tab for the Apple Dumpling recipe.)