Wild Apples, Henry David Thoreau [best beach reads TXT] 📗
- Author: Henry David Thoreau
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spoken,—for they are likely to have a world-wide reputation.
There is, first of all, the Wood-Apple (Malus sylvatica); the Blue-Jay Apple; the Apple which grows in Dells in the Woods
(sylvestrivallis), also in Hollows in Pastures (campestrivallis);
the Apple that grows in an old Cellar-Hole (Malus cellaris); the
Meadow-Apple; the Partridge-Apple; the Truant’s Apple (Cessatoris),
which no boy will ever go by without knocking off some, however late
it may be; the Saunterer’s Apple,—you must lose yourself before you
can find the way to that; the Beauty of the Air (Decks Aeris);
December-Eating; the Frozen-Thawed (gelato-soluta), good only in
that state; the Concord Apple, possibly the same with the Musketa-quidensis; the Assabet Apple; the Brindled Apple; Wine of New
England; the Chickaree Apple; the Green Apple (Malus viridis);—this
has many synonyms; in an imperfect state, it is the Cholera
morbifera aut dysenterifera, puerulis dilectissima; [Footnote:The
apple that brings the disease of cholera and of dysen-tery, the
fruit that small boys like best.]—the Apple which Atalanta stopped
to pick up; the Hedge-Apple (Malus Sepium); the Slug-Apple
(limacea); the Railroad-Apple, which perhaps came from a core thrown
out of the cars; the Apple whose Fruit we tasted in our Youth; our
Particular Apple, not to be found in any catalogue,—Pedestrium
Solatium; [Footnote: The tramp’s comfort.] also the Apple where
hangs the Forgotten Scythe; Iduna’s Apples, and the Apples which
Loki found in the Wood; [Footnote See p. 172 (Proof readers note:
paragraph 25)] and a great many more I have on my list, too numerous
to mention,—all of them good. As Bodaeus exclaims, referring to the
cultivated kinds, and adapting Virgil to his case, so I, adapting
Bodaeus,—
“Not if I had a hundred tongues, a hundred mouths,
An iron voice, could I describe all the forms
And reckon up all the names of these wild apples.”
THE LAST GLEANING.
By the middle of November the wild apples have lost some of their
brilliancy, and have chiefly fallen. A great part are decayed on the
ground, and the sound ones are more palatable than before. The note
of the chickadee sounds now more distinct, as you wander amid the
old trees, and the autumnal dandelion is half-closed and tearful.
But still, if you are a skilful gleaner, you may get many a pocket-full even of grafted fruit, long after apples are supposed to be
gone out-of-doors. I know a Blue-Pearmain tree, growing within the
edge of a swamp, almost as good as wild. You would not suppose that
there was any fruit left there, on the first survey, but you must
look according to system. Those which lie exposed are quite brown
and rotten now, or perchance a few still show one blooming cheek
here and there amid the wet leaves. Nevertheless, with experienced
eyes, I explore amid the bare alders and the huckleberry-bushes and
the withered sedge, and in the crevices of the rocks, which are full
of leaves, and pry under the fallen and decaying ferns, which, with
apple and alder leaves, thickly strew the ground. For I know that
they lie concealed, fallen into hollows long since and covered up by
the leaves of the tree itself,—a proper kind of packing. From these
lurking-places, anywhere within the circumference of the tree, I
draw forth the fruit, all wet and glossy, maybe nibbled by rabbits
and hollowed out by crickets and perhaps with a leaf or two cemented
to it (as Curzon [Footnote: Robert Curzon was a traveller who
searched for old manuscripts in the monasteries of the Levant. See
his book, Ancient Monasteries of the East.] an old manuscript from a
monastery’s mouldy cellar), but still with a rich bloom on it, and
at least as ripe and well kept, if not better than those in barrels,
more crisp and lively than they. If these resources fail to yield
anything, I have learned to look between the bases of the suckers
which spring thickly from some horizontal limb, for now and then one
lodges there, or in the very midst of an alder-clump, where they are
covered by leaves, safe from cows which may have smelled them out.
If I am sharp-set, for I do not refuse the Blue-Pearmain, I fill my
pockets on each side; and as I retrace my steps in the frosty eve,
being perhaps four or five miles from home, I eat one first from
this side, and then from that, to keep my balance.
I learn from Topsell’s Gesner, whose authority appears to be
Albertus, that the following is the way in which the hedgehog
collects and carries home his apples. He says: “His meat is apples,
worms, or grapes: when he findeth apples or grapes on the earth, he
rolleth himself upon them, until he have filled all his prickles,
and then carrieth them home to his den, never bearing above one in
his mouth; and if it fortune that one of them fall off by the way,
he likewise shaketh off all the residue, and walloweth upon them
afresh, until they be all settled upon his back again. So, forth he
goeth, making a noise like a cart-wheel; and if he have any young
ones in his nest, they pull off his load wherewithal he is loaded,
eating thereof what they please, and laying up the residue for the
time to come.”
THE “FROZEN-THAWED” APPLE.
Toward the end of November, though some of the sound ones are yet
more mellow and perhaps more edible, they have generally, like the
leaves, lost their beauty, and are beginning to freeze. It is
finger-cold, and prudent farmers get in their barrelled apples, and
bring you the apples and cider which they have engaged; for it is
time to put them into the cellar. Perhaps a few on the ground show
their red cheeks above the early snow, and occasionally some even
preserve their color and soundness under the snow throughout the
winter. But generally at the beginning of the winter they freeze
hard, and soon, though undecayed, acquire the color of a baked
apple.
Before the end of December, generally, they experience their first
thawing. Those which a month ago were sour, crabbed, and quite
unpalatable to the civilized taste, such at least as were frozen
while sound, let a warmer sun come to thaw them, for they are
extremely sensitive to its rays, are found to be filled with a rich,
sweet cider, better than any bottled cider that I know of, and with
which I am better acquainted than with wine. All apples are good in
this state, and your jaws are the cider-press. Others, which have
more substance, are a sweet and luscious food,—in my opinion of
more worth than the pine-apples which are imported from the West
Indies. Those which lately even I tasted only to repent of it,—for
I am semi-civilized,—which the farmer willingly left on the tree, I
am now glad to find have the property of hanging on like the leaves
of the young oaks. It is a way to keep cider sweet without boiling.
Let the frost come to freeze them first, solid as stones, and then
the rain or a warm winter day to thaw them, and they will seem to
have borrowed a flavor from heaven through the medium of the air in
which they hang. Or perchance you find, when you get home, that
those which rattled in your pocket have thawed, and the ice is
turned to cider. But after the third or fourth freezing and thawing
they will not be found so good.
What are the imported half-ripe fruits of the torrid South to this
fruit matured by the cold of the frigid North? These are those
crabbed apples with which I cheated my companion, and kept a smooth
face that I might tempt him to eat. Now we both greedily fill our
pockets with them,—bending to drink the cup and save our lappets
from the overflowing juice,—and grow more social with their wine.
Was there one that hung so high and sheltered by the tangled
branches that our sticks could not dislodge it?
It is a fruit never carried to market, that I am aware of,—quite
distinct from the apple of the markets, as from dried apple and
cider,—and it is not every winter that produces it in perfection.
“Hear this, ye old men, and give ear, all ye in-habitants of the
land! Hath this been in your days, or even in the days of your
fathers? …
“That which the palmer-worm hath left hath the locust eaten; and
that which the locust hath left hath the canker-worm eaten; and that
which the canker-worm hath left hath the caterpillar eaten.
“Awake, ye drunkards, and weep! and howl, all ye drinkers of wine,
because of the new wine! for it is cut off from your mouth.
“For a nation is come up upon my land, strong, and without number,
whose teeth are the teeth of a lion, and he hath the cheek-teeth of
a great lion.
“He hath laid my vine waste, and barked my fig-tree; he hath made
it clean bare, and cast it away; the branches thereof are made
white… .
“Be ye ashamed, O ye husbandmen! howl, O ye vine-dressers! …
“The vine is dried up, and the fig-tree languisheth; the
pomegranate-tree, the palm tree also, and the apple-tree, even all
the trees of the field, are withered: because joy is withered away
from the sons of men.” [Footnote: Joel, chapter i., verses 1-12.]
End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Wild Apples
by Henry David Thoreau
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