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Wassail
In August, but this year in July, Gravensteins:
golden fleshed, generous, kind to cook,
ciderer and ring-dryer. She tries everything,
but mostly butter: a large crockpotful
of peeled rings, quartered, lightly cloved,
cinnamoned and nutmegged will make
six pints and one short jelly jar. After
that, the old Egremont Russet, Cortland,
Honeycrisp and Jonagold come all together;
what can she do but slice them all in quarters,
toss them into her dedicated shredder,
pour pomace into a burlap bag
and hang that, with her father's pulley
and old hemp rope, to a maple branch?
Juice will run for hours, collecting
in a tub beneath; at evening she dips gold,