For those of you with your cold Dixie longnecks in hand and ready to ride with me, we will resume our 2006 journey to Louisiana next week. Perhaps.

The onslaught of veggies has been underway since June. The bean field alone is threatening to overwhelm our storage capabilities, and certainly my energies. The tomatoes are weighing down the stalks even with a daily harvest. The okra grows from one inch to four inches and inedibility overnight (though some say the inedibility begins when it’s placed on the plate). But at least the dent corn is harvested and drying, so I can check it off my list.

And then there is this: A few evenings back I found a handful of Granny Smith apples that had fallen to the ground. Thirty minutes later, and a bushel basket was full and inside the house. Which, if my farm journal is any guide, means the Foxwhelp apples are almost ripe and will be ready to harvest any moment. A full morning will be required to gather the heavy crop from those large trees. The old orchard may have been planted with semi-dwarf rootstock 20 years ago, but … My How The Trees Have Thrived. The Yarlington Mills and both the Arkansas and the Kingston Blacks are a few weeks behind the Foxwhelp, meaning they will not be ready until mid-August.

It has taken many years to adjust my expectations of an apple harvest to our East Tennessee weather, and adjust them again to a warming climate. In my mind, perhaps because of nearly a lifetime of reading rural literature from England and other northern climes, my expectation was always that gathering takes place in the fall. Yet year after year the harvest disappointed with wormy, wooden, and rotten apples. I’d walk among the trees in October or November waiting for some transformation, not realizing that the transformation had happened a few months past.

Eventually my expectations for harvest time shifted from blaming the trees to simply resetting the calendar. As a farmer and orchardist, the fault was mine, a failure to observe being a chief liability for anyone who wishes to if not thrive, then at least muddle through with a minimum of waste. But wisdom is a tough mistress to keep if she is ignored.

Harvest tip: When your apple and pear trees bloom in March and April, expect your fruit to arrive in late July through September (unless, of course, your trees or fruit choose an earlier or later date to bloom or ripen).

The majority of trees in the orchard are old English and Southern cider varieties, so the apples will be sweated for a week after harvest. It’s a simple process in which they are piled in the barn on a tarp and allowed to further ripen and soften. After sweating, the cider press will be retrieved from the well house — wasps exterminated from their clever hiding places — and the pressing will begin.

If I were diligent about a thorough harvesting, I could easily expect 20 or more gallons of juice from these first trees. But, knowing that the Foxwhelps are just the start, with the remainder of the apples and the Kelly pears crowding into the calendar in August, I’ll aim to produce more or less 10 gallons of cider from each session with the press, allowing an extra gallon or two for apple jelly. The “cake” from the pressing and the windfalls gathered will be fed to the pigs.

August also brings the muscadine harvest, easily 200 pounds of fruit from our little vineyard that traditionally are turned into even more jelly and then some wine. I’ll distill some of the latter into brandy or gin using my five-gallon copper alembic still.

Harvest tip: Add herbs or spices when making preserves. Rosemary and ginger are perfect flavorings for apple jelly. A bouquet garni of black peppercorns and coriander seeds added to the juice can also give your buttered and jellied toast a nice pop in the morning.

September brings the endless supply of Callaway crabapples, which when fermented with honey make for a delicious mead. Hopefully, sometime between now and then, the figs will be ready — that is, if we ever get more than a trickle of rain. Once they ripen it will be a race between me, the chickens, and the wasps to determine who eats them first.

Harvest tip on figs: Gather early morning before sunup or late in the evening. Otherwise, you risk grabbing a wasp with every other fig. Believe me when I tell you, that grows old rather quickly.

Harvest season in Tennessee is really an almost year-round event. From the greens of winter and spring, the traditional vegetable season of summer, and the small and large fruits from summer to fall, it takes planning, energy, and a willingness to forgive yourself for not saving it all. My friend Tim likes to say, “In East Tennessee we can grow everything, just nothing really well.” True, the weather can be a challenge, the soil is never what you want, and the insects are always ravenous. But overall, I have found that the harvest seasons on this farm are usually generous if the farmer is willing to do the work.

Harvest tip: Take notes in a journal on when vegetables and fruits ripen. Note also how you cooked or preserved their bounty. Your next year’s self will thank you.

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left to right: her son-in-law Lindsey, grandson Joseph, nephew Brian (me). Marjorie Jo Roberts Yeomans.

Addendum: Our Memory Keeper turns 100 today. A century is a long time to be an active witness. Happy Birthday, Aunt Jo!

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