Cider Pressing at Jack Wasson’s Place
Last week our Self Reliant Community group was invited to Jack’s place. He has a large, sturdy press and the 8 or so attendees were kept busy washing, halving, loading, pressing and bottling the juice. Our 3 bushels of apples yielded about 5 gallons of juice. I canned same, and am letting some turn to vinegar if we are able to leave it alone! After the pressing we enjoyed cheese, cake and of course apple juice!
Jack’s place was historically the valley’s cider pressing place, in fact there is even a poem about it:
Wasson’s Cider Mill
Frank Carleton Nelsom
It’s hard to say just why it is, but
’round this time o’ year,
There’s something ’bout the autumn
days and in the atmosphere,
That takes me back to olden times in
memory, you know,
And once again I seem to live my
youth of long ago.
And greatest of the great events that
as a boy I knew,
In ecstasy that’s near divine, again
I’m living through,
For on that top-box wagon load of
apples comes a thrill,
Of riding o’er the dusty road to
Wasson’s cider mill.
And though the distance wasn’t
great, in miles exactly four,
The gait the horses jogged along, it
meant an hour or more
And long before we reached the spot
the odor in the air,
Proclaimed beyond all human doubt
that Wasson’s mill was there.
And then we’d have to wait and wait
sometimes an hour or two,
And when our turn would come at
last to run our apples through
My dad would grab the monstrous
scoop and work with all his might,
While I would watch the cider flow
and drink to my delight.
Of sanitation, I’ll admit, we’d really
never heard,
As far as cider makin’ went, there
wasn’t such a word,
For in the hopper often dropped the
bad ones with the good,
And well I knew they didn’t do
exactly as they should
But after all it said and done
regardless of the way
Of doing things long years ago and
doing them today,
I’d love to take a pitcher now and
sit and drink my fill
Of cider as they made it then at
Wasson’s cider mill.
This Indiana poet grew up near the Samuel Wasson farm.