Intimations of Autumn

It was that certain something, that particular breath in the breeze that I didn’t quite notice at first. Or was it a scent? Or a flash of color in the tree branch by the kitchen window? Somehow the world has whispered in my ear during these first few days of September that autumn is on its way. And I can’t help but be glad.

Why is it that the first signs of autumn—the season that will hearken in the bitter winds of winter—feel so warm and cozy? When I was a little girl, my siblings and I knew fall was on its way when we walked out of evening services at our little church and smelled smoke wafting from my grandparents’ fireplace a block away. The weather might still be warm enough for us to break a sweat during the 3-minute trek to their doorstep, but no matter—we knew autumn was coming. It was a good feeling, a comforting feeling. However much we might have enjoyed the past few weeks of swimming in Cherokee Lake, playing softball, sucking on popsicles, fishing in Wolfe’s pond, or running through the sprinkler in our yard, we celebrated that precursory smoke and the calmer, quieter, cozier adventures it would usher in: hikes in the woods, evening hay rides, pumpkin carving, leaf collecting, cider sipping.

No, I’m not ready to start choosing Halloween costumes or baking pumpkin pies just yet, but my girls and I can’t wait to go apple picking; to hear the local marching bands begin their drills; to visit a nearby county fair; and to celebrate the autumnal equinox (September 22 this year).

So come on in, autumn, and pull up a chair. We’ll share stories from when you’ve visited before, and you’ll help us cook up some new ones that will bring comfort and warmth in years to come.

Heirloom Apple Cake

A few weeks ago I went to the cupboard, pulled out the battered notebook of recipes my mom gave me some years ago, and hungrily flipped right to the one recipe I have to make every fall: my Great Aunt Tootie's Apple Cake. Aunt Tootie used to bring it to our family gatherings this time of year, and now that she has passed away and can't share it with us anymore, my mom and I seem to have taken it upon ourselves to make sharing it with others an essential part of the autumn season. (Of course, you'll be luckiest if you get a piece from one of my mom's cakes, but I like to think mine are getting a little closer to real good each year.) So far this season I've made four apple cakes--to share with the folks working on our barn, with my husband and his coworkers, with my stepson who came for a visit, and with various others who have dropped by our house at the right moment. My mom has probably made at least half a dozen apple cakes by this time.

This cake seems to taste extra sweet when it is baked with apples we've picked ourselves at a local apple orchard. Having moved from Ohio earlier this year, we almost missed the 2011 North Carolina apple season: by the time I started thinking the harvest might be ready, the picking was almost done! But we did make it in time to an orchard about an hour north of Charlotte, where (as always) we went right past the trees near the front of the field and headed straight for the last apple trees in the rows. The Granny Smiths (my favorite) were already "done," but there were still come Golden Russets and several lovely varieties of red. We ended up (again, as always) leaving the field with much more fruit than we could comfortably carry. But that's one of the joys of harvest time, isn't it? Being loaded down so heavily that your muscles ache even as your mouth waters.

I've since made apple turnovers, fried apples, apple sundaes, and apple crisp. But nothing compares to Aunt Tootie's Apple Cake. As you can see from the recipe below, it is a not a complicated concoction--no spices, no fancy baking techniques. Just one big bowl, a sturdy spoon, and simple ingredients. Maybe it is that simplicity that allows it to so deliciously showcase our sweetest fruit of the fall season. Enjoy!


AUNT TOOTIE'S APPLE CAKE
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Blend together:

• 3 eggs
• 1 1/4 cup oil (I sometimes use up to 1/2 cup applesauce, and you could use more or less.)
• 2 cups sugar.

Add and mix in well:

• 2 1/2 cups self-rising flour.

Stir in:

• 2-4 medium apples, chopped (I always err on the side of more apples; use your own judgment.)
• 1 cup coconut
• 1 cup chopped nuts (My mom uses walnuts; I use pecans.)

Pour into a greased and floured bundt pan (or, if you don't have one, a tube pan). Bake for 1 hour. Cool for 10 minutes in the pan and then invert onto a cooling rack.
After the cake has cooled completely, drizzle over it the following Caramel Topping.

Caramel Topping
Heat in a medium saucepan, stirring constantly:

• 1/2 stick butter
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 1/3 cup evaporated milk. 

Bring this mixture to a boil and (still stirring constantly) let boil for 3-5 minutes. How long you boil it will depend on how thick you like the topping to be. I think Aunt Tootie boiled hers to the soft ball stage (test by dropping a bit from the spoon into ice water and check to see if it forms a easily pliable ball). My mom makes hers thicker and spreads it on the cake instead of drizzling it. I shoot for somewhere in between.

Scattering Hope

My daughters (ages 5 and 7) and I have been planting spring bulbs this week: grape hyacinth, daffodils and paperwhites. My mom suggested that as good a way as any to go about this is to stand with your back to the general area where you want flowers to bloom, toss a couple handfuls of bulbs over your shoulder, and then plant them wherever they land. That's probably what we should have done. But the girls insisted that they knew several "perfect spots" for planting, so we each took charge of a bunch of bulbs and proceeded to strategically scatter ourselves throughout the yard and the woods around the house, tenaciously digging and then dropping our dormant treasures into winter resting places. The result is that I have absolutely no idea what our landscape may look like in the spring. That's probably good for my perfectionistic self. It definitely seemed good for my girls, who are feeling so much ownership in the process that they've spent several hours "babysitting" the bulbs they planted in some of the MOST perfect perfect-spots--singing to them, telling them stories, and bringing compost to scatter on them.

To place in the ground the potential for new life even as the air chills and the leaves fall all around is a spiritual experience. It reminds us, I believe, to hope and to dream. And to nourish our hopes and dreams with labors of love.

To get to do such labor alongside people we love makes the experience all the richer.

For some helpful tips on planting spring bulbs, see this article on Bulb Planting from Organic Gardening Magazine.

Morning Gift

As I opened the back door on the way to the barn this morning, I received an unexpected greeting from the brilliant red leaves of the little Japanese Maple next to our deck. To have the chance to see those leaves shimmering in the rays of the early morning sun was a gift. It reminded me of this quotation by John Muir: "Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you . . . while cares will drop off like autumn leaves." I doubt there are many things in this world that can be simultaneously as stunning and comforting as beautiful autumn leaves.