Every year in the early fall, our green apple trees became alive with tart green fruit. These apples made the best applesauce. My mother would cook the apples and make her magic dish appear. I recently picked green apples this week on our farm and am reminded of the days of my childhood. These apples were small and often had a few worm holes which fascinated me. I remember helping prepare them for cooking, looking for the little creatures! Here is a picture of grandpa DK Rankin in front of one prized tree. We loved the smell of those apples cooking. The memory lives on. I embrace it like I was back in that kitchen as a little girl with my mom by my side. My own batch this year was a testimony to her tutelage. Each day is a journey of new memories and old. I treasure the journey of green apples and applesauce.
I remember my father’s gold, International Harvester Scout. It was an important part of growing up in the small town of Ashton, at The Rankin Motel. We went as a family to St. Anthony (14 miles south of Ashton) to look at a pretty, shiny, gold IH Scout. Dad needed something to haul wood in that could also take garbage to the dump. From the seriousness of the discussion mom and dad were having, it was a serious investment.
Kim, Robert and I (us kids) circled the dealership’s gravel driveway playing tag with each other and the huge grasshoppers were all over that fall. They were easy to catch and our hands were covered in the tobacco spit they ‘urped’ up. The decision was made to purchase the beautiful Scout. Chores could now get done fashionably. Adventures took us many places. After cleaning the motel rooms and cabins, we packed our bologna sandwiches and headed to the river (Jim’s boat dock) with Gomer, our black lab.
I don’t think we all could fit into the Scout, so our Ford Galaxy (Gold also) was also driven to the boat dock area. Gomer was an amazing dog who loved to find dead fish and stinky stuff. Of course, he always found it before we could stop him from rolling in it.
We got him into the river to wash as much of it off as possible. But a very wet, stinky dog had to be transported home. I remember sitting in the back seat of that Scout, trying not to throw up the whole trip home. Little brother got to sit in the front passenger seat next to dad.
