If those aren’t your adjectives for apples, they should be. From a two-handed hold of a child whose teeth are barely strong enough to break the skin to the gnarled hand of a farm worker clutching his with thumb and and middle finger, apples represent an easy treat at any time or place. My mother cut my first apples in slices and scraped bites in a spoon to prevent my swallowing too large a chunk and choking. My earliest memories were of Delicious for eating even though they were unpredictable. They might look enticing, and at times they met the crisp and crunchy criteria. Other times, the first bite told you shipping and sitting had taken its toll, and they were “mealy” which meant without snap. One of life’s worst chores is to have to finish an apple that’s not worth the effort.
Now both sides of a bin in my grocery store tumble with varieties. Standby small and large Delicious, the small are designated as School Boy from lunch box days, require two sections side by side. Green Granny Smith and McIntosh can be picked up for baking. New varieties with names unknown to my parents cost more per apple: Honeycrisp, Fuji, and Jazz. Worldwide, 7,500 varieties of apples exist. The trees require full sun to produce. Like corn, a farmer needs two trees to pollinate and make a crop. The stem end holds the fruit to the tree and the bumpy end at one time was the center of the apple blossom.
Probably most people have an apple story even if it is winning a core tossing contest or getting giggles and sending a half chewed apple backwards up one’s nose. One relative who lives in Maine took her children to pick apples. The older ones could climb the trees. The youngest sat on her daddy’s shoulders. Another relative in Arkansas would send us a bushel of local produce in the right season. The identifyable smell heralded a fresh apple cake that very night. (Recipe supplied by request.) I brought home a jar of saw it being made apple butter from a school field trip in Missouri. My husband called the lady and persuaded her to ship him a dozen jars. They arrived packed in a box, each jar wrapped in newspaper tied with string. Clearly this wasn’t an Amazon delivery.
Only one point remains to be cleared up. Apples didn’t become the forbidden fruit until Milton wrote Paradise Lost and identified it by name. Michelangelo, lying on his back, painted the scene on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel as a fig tree. Early interpreters named it as an apricot, pomegranate, or even a grape. Cut it in half horizontally, and you will reveal a star representing its heavenly source. Apples are tempting, and they are not sinful except in satisfaction.
The earth brought forth vegetation, plants yielding seed according to their own kinds, and trees bearing fruit in which is their seed, each according to its kind. Genesis 1:12
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Let Me Tell Ya 