Not Dead Yet

I am by default a depressed and jaded person.

Even without following the news (which I don’t, and therefore I’m not up to date on the latest climate change news) I still bare witness to the homogenization, monetization, or flat-out death of cultures that I love. From species extinctions, to the exploitation of human heritages, even to the commoditization of personal relationships (ahem, social media) it seems like everything in this world has become contorted and fast-tracked for this economy. And those things I love must also fit within that business model of continuous growth and large-scale efficiency lest they too die by the roadside.  

Cider drives on this road too now. You might even say it’s in the left lane. As the industry looks to homogenize itself in every aspect -from its’ language (which is used to sum-up the vast worlds each product represents), to the cloning of a select few “cider varieties” which will make it easier to farm and market apples on a mass-scale -I see it happening in my little corner of the world too. And I get depressed and jaded.

But every few years in May something miraculous happens. Thousands and thousands of wild apples seem to emerge out of the forest waving victory flags (a head full of blossoms) as if to yell to us as we drive by, “Hey! We’re not dead yet!”

These are trees, mind you, that even I -a person obsessed with wild apple trees going on a quarter century -don’t usually notice either. Where the hell did they come from? As magical as the aurora borealis is, this brief and rare occurrence restores my faith in this world. They remind me that that things can prosper in the shadows. Apples, cider, businesses and human cultures can still grow organically.

A Moment's Thought

In recent years I took to writing. HEAVILY.
   With numerous magazine pieces and a 300-page book coming out this Spring it's gotten to the point where I'd call myself a writer just as much as a cider maker. Fine, I can accept that. But do note that writing (and for that matter, cider making too) are merely just ways for me to stay involved with apple growing. Being with apples, for whatever reason, is as important to me as my relationships with people. The trees offer me something people can't (and vica versa, of course.)

   I started writing this blog ten years ago but posts have dropped off in recent years as I got into "serious" writing. Now I see it's been almost a year since my last entry. This delay isn't because I haven't wanted to write brief "diary posts" but it's because I've applied my OCD/ addictive personality to longer-developed, heavily edited, writings. I'm obsessed with a need to "complete" my thoughts, which often means tying my concepts to bigger and more diverse topics. But there is something majestic about simple statements and I need to remember that the art of writing should incorporate these unloaded , quick comments too. What a simple concept that is!

   So to that end, let me get on with blurting that after a year of heavy "professional" writing I have landed in a post-book depression. It feels like I've lost my purpose. I know that something will eventually lift me out of this but in the meantime I'm eternally grateful that apple trees are out there waiting for me. I love pruning apple trees in the winter like nothing else. And I know not one orchardist who does not share this passion above all other apple related-tasks! Pity the cider maker who does not personally tend the trees! And for me, right now, this winter pruning has taken on a Voltaire-like importance. Just shut-up and stop thinking: Go out and spend quality time with them. Its what cider (and my stupid ramblings) are all about. It's what they've ALWAYS been about.

After bottling the 2017s

When cider is made, and grown, to the standards of traditional wine it has its triumphant years and its dud years according to the season. 2017 was an abundant year for wild apples in Sullivan County but the quality of apple was medium-to-poor. Due to disease set-backs in the Northeast last summer, and especially because of the cold, wet July and August, the fruit brix were lower than in any of my dozen-or-so years measuring such things. Summer’s rebound at the end of September was too-little-too-late for most trees, inevitably the sugars were too low and the stresses on yeasts were great. (Mind you, we don’t add nutrients, sugars, or Übermensch yeast strains to “correct” for seasons, as would most New World wine makers.)

Despite the year's abundance, only the late apples (picked in mid-October) were of use to us. All said and done, we omitted about 1/3rd third of our total 2017 production, an effort to raise the remaining 2/3rds to our standards. But even that, I'd grade 2017 a “C/ C+” against other years. Blending played a key role in balancing the ciders, thus our “locational ciders” (which are truly locational, not human-curated) are quite limited. We found only four of them worth focusing on (and surprising good, actually.) The bulk of our Homestead ciders were blended into our "Sullivan County" cider, which if you recall from 2015, is a blend of apples from all seven of our county’s USGS soil groups (what I've self-appellated in the “locational” ciders names.) 
Again, blending (and omitting) became the saving grace in 2017.

Everything about our ciders is the same in terms of format: The Locational Homesteads, Choke Pear and Malus Baccata are in 500ml; the Elderberry and Appinette are in 750ml; and the Sullivan County is in 1500ml “mags.” The only thing new is that the Sullivan County cider is also available for places that pour by the glass in kegs. (It’s an effort pet-nat producers have made to reduce our carbon footprint but the keg format is dominated by industrial drink-producers of industrial farm-products. I’m doubtful if such establishments will understand our comparatively high price, but who know?)

2017 tested my prowess as a cider maker and I’ll leave it for you to judge. Personally, I’m quite satisfied. It feels like a victory snatched from the hands of adversity. And trust me, I wouldn’t release them if I didn’t think they were good (and comparatively excellent in the market.) None-the-less, I don’t recommend the 2017 vintage be “saved.” Only the Malus Baccata, East Branch and Callicoon Creaks exhibit the tannin/ acid structure (and the overall density) worthy of setting aside. Everything else I recommend drinking between July 2018 and 2020.

As always, we will release the prior vintage on the Summer Solstice and CSA supporters will have first option. Send us an email request and we'll send our price list and CSA Order Form (Minimum 2 cases.) CSA customers will also have the option to buy ciders from our personal stores of previous vintages -ciders which are quite nice at present.

We can honestly say that it's you -the customers and cider drinkers, the people who help us pick, press and bottle each year, and the land owners who allow us access to their trees –you are just as much the cider maker as I am. When Polly and I say thank you, believe that it’s not just for “supporting us”, it's for caring enough to make this world more than just OK. None of this focus, time, and energy needs to happen, cider could just be a basic drink from farmed apples while exceptional "real fruit" sits and rots on the ground, no worse for wear. But art and art-appreciation makes this world more than OK, it makes it exceptional. So sincerely: Thank You.

-Andy Brennan, 2018