"
As for those I speak of, I pluck them as a wild fruit, native to this
quarter of the earth,--fruit of old trees that have been dying ever
since I was a boy and are not yet dead, frequented only by the
woodpecker and the squirrel, deserted now by the owner, who has not
faith enough to look under their boughs.
As for those I speak of, I pluck them as a wild fruit, native to this
quarter of the earth,--fruit of old trees that have been dying ever
since I was a boy and are not yet dead, frequented only by the
woodpecker and the squirrel, deserted now by the owner, who has not
faith enough to look under their boughs.
Thoreau - Excursions and Poems
I frequently pluck from these trees a perfectly
mild and tamed fruit. As Palladius says, "_Et injussu consternitur
ubere mali_:" And the ground is strewn with the fruit of an unbidden
apple tree.
It is an old notion that, if these wild trees do not bear a valuable
fruit of their own, they are the best stocks by which to transmit to
posterity the most highly prized qualities of others. However, I am
not in search of stocks, but the wild fruit itself, whose fierce gust
has suffered no "inteneration. " It is not my
"highest plot
To plant the Bergamot. "
THE FRUIT, AND ITS FLAVOR
The time for wild apples is the last of October and the first of
November. They then get to be palatable, for they ripen late, and they
are still perhaps as beautiful as ever. I make a great account of
these fruits, which the farmers do not think it worth the while to
gather,--wild flavors of the Muse, vivacious and inspiriting. The
farmer thinks that he has better in his barrels, but he is mistaken,
unless he has a walker's appetite and imagination, neither of which
can he have.
Such as grow quite wild, and are left out till the first of November,
I presume that the owner does not mean to gather. They belong to
children as wild as themselves,--to certain active boys that I
know,--to the wild-eyed woman of the fields, to whom nothing comes
amiss, who gleans after all the world, and, moreover, to us walkers.
We have met with them, and they are ours. These rights, long enough
insisted upon, have come to be an institution in some old countries,
where they have learned how to live. I hear that "the custom of
grippling, which may be called apple-gleaning, is, or was formerly,
practiced in Herefordshire. It consists in leaving a few apples, which
are called the gripples, on every tree, after the general gathering,
for the boys, who go with climbing-poles and bags to collect them.
"
As for those I speak of, I pluck them as a wild fruit, native to this
quarter of the earth,--fruit of old trees that have been dying ever
since I was a boy and are not yet dead, frequented only by the
woodpecker and the squirrel, deserted now by the owner, who has not
faith enough to look under their boughs. From the appearance of the
tree-top, at a little distance, you would expect nothing but lichens
to drop from it, but your faith is rewarded by finding the ground
strewn with spirited fruit,--some of it, perhaps, collected at
squirrel-holes, with the marks of their teeth by which they carried
them,--some containing a cricket or two silently feeding within, and
some, especially in damp days, a shell-less snail. The very sticks and
stones lodged in the tree-top might have convinced you of the
savoriness of the fruit which has been so eagerly sought after in past
years.
I have seen no account of these among the "Fruits and Fruit-Trees of
America," though they are more memorable to my taste than the grafted
kinds; more racy and wild American flavors do they possess when
October and November, when December and January, and perhaps February
and March even, have assuaged them somewhat. An old farmer in my
neighborhood, who always selects the right word, says that "they have
a kind of bow-arrow tang. "
Apples for grafting appear to have been selected commonly, not so much
for their spirited flavor, as for their mildness, their size, and
bearing qualities,--not so much for their beauty, as for their
fairness and soundness. Indeed, I have no faith in the selected lists
of pomological gentlemen. Their "Favorites" and "None-suches" and
"Seek-no-farthers," when I have fruited them, commonly turn out very
tame and forgettable. They are eaten with comparatively little zest,
and have no real _tang_ nor _smack_ to them.
What if some of these wildings are acrid and puckery, genuine
_verjuice_, do they not still belong to the _Pomaceae_, which are
uniformly innocent and kind to our race? I still begrudge them to the
cider-mill. Perhaps they are not fairly ripe yet.
No wonder that these small and high-colored apples are thought to make
the best cider. Loudon quotes from the "Herefordshire Report," that
"apples of a small size are always, if equal in quality, to be
preferred to those of a larger size, in order that the rind and kernel
may bear the greatest proportion to the pulp, which affords the
weakest and most watery juice. " And he says that, "to prove this, Dr.
Symonds, of Hereford, about the year 1800, made one hogshead of cider
entirely from the rinds and cores of apples, and another from the pulp
only, when the first was found of extraordinary strength and flavor,
while the latter was sweet and insipid.
mild and tamed fruit. As Palladius says, "_Et injussu consternitur
ubere mali_:" And the ground is strewn with the fruit of an unbidden
apple tree.
It is an old notion that, if these wild trees do not bear a valuable
fruit of their own, they are the best stocks by which to transmit to
posterity the most highly prized qualities of others. However, I am
not in search of stocks, but the wild fruit itself, whose fierce gust
has suffered no "inteneration. " It is not my
"highest plot
To plant the Bergamot. "
THE FRUIT, AND ITS FLAVOR
The time for wild apples is the last of October and the first of
November. They then get to be palatable, for they ripen late, and they
are still perhaps as beautiful as ever. I make a great account of
these fruits, which the farmers do not think it worth the while to
gather,--wild flavors of the Muse, vivacious and inspiriting. The
farmer thinks that he has better in his barrels, but he is mistaken,
unless he has a walker's appetite and imagination, neither of which
can he have.
Such as grow quite wild, and are left out till the first of November,
I presume that the owner does not mean to gather. They belong to
children as wild as themselves,--to certain active boys that I
know,--to the wild-eyed woman of the fields, to whom nothing comes
amiss, who gleans after all the world, and, moreover, to us walkers.
We have met with them, and they are ours. These rights, long enough
insisted upon, have come to be an institution in some old countries,
where they have learned how to live. I hear that "the custom of
grippling, which may be called apple-gleaning, is, or was formerly,
practiced in Herefordshire. It consists in leaving a few apples, which
are called the gripples, on every tree, after the general gathering,
for the boys, who go with climbing-poles and bags to collect them.
"
As for those I speak of, I pluck them as a wild fruit, native to this
quarter of the earth,--fruit of old trees that have been dying ever
since I was a boy and are not yet dead, frequented only by the
woodpecker and the squirrel, deserted now by the owner, who has not
faith enough to look under their boughs. From the appearance of the
tree-top, at a little distance, you would expect nothing but lichens
to drop from it, but your faith is rewarded by finding the ground
strewn with spirited fruit,--some of it, perhaps, collected at
squirrel-holes, with the marks of their teeth by which they carried
them,--some containing a cricket or two silently feeding within, and
some, especially in damp days, a shell-less snail. The very sticks and
stones lodged in the tree-top might have convinced you of the
savoriness of the fruit which has been so eagerly sought after in past
years.
I have seen no account of these among the "Fruits and Fruit-Trees of
America," though they are more memorable to my taste than the grafted
kinds; more racy and wild American flavors do they possess when
October and November, when December and January, and perhaps February
and March even, have assuaged them somewhat. An old farmer in my
neighborhood, who always selects the right word, says that "they have
a kind of bow-arrow tang. "
Apples for grafting appear to have been selected commonly, not so much
for their spirited flavor, as for their mildness, their size, and
bearing qualities,--not so much for their beauty, as for their
fairness and soundness. Indeed, I have no faith in the selected lists
of pomological gentlemen. Their "Favorites" and "None-suches" and
"Seek-no-farthers," when I have fruited them, commonly turn out very
tame and forgettable. They are eaten with comparatively little zest,
and have no real _tang_ nor _smack_ to them.
What if some of these wildings are acrid and puckery, genuine
_verjuice_, do they not still belong to the _Pomaceae_, which are
uniformly innocent and kind to our race? I still begrudge them to the
cider-mill. Perhaps they are not fairly ripe yet.
No wonder that these small and high-colored apples are thought to make
the best cider. Loudon quotes from the "Herefordshire Report," that
"apples of a small size are always, if equal in quality, to be
preferred to those of a larger size, in order that the rind and kernel
may bear the greatest proportion to the pulp, which affords the
weakest and most watery juice. " And he says that, "to prove this, Dr.
Symonds, of Hereford, about the year 1800, made one hogshead of cider
entirely from the rinds and cores of apples, and another from the pulp
only, when the first was found of extraordinary strength and flavor,
while the latter was sweet and insipid.
