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.
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