Crabapple Jelly from the Family Tree
A month or so ago, we were in Syracuse visiting Bo’s mom. It was late summer, and the two apple trees in her yard were absolutely loaded: one green apple tree and one crabapple tree, their branches heavy with fruit.
Those trees have been there for about forty years. When Bo’s parents moved to a new home, Bo’s cousin Igor—known to the family as Gus—gave his uncle Ostap the trees as a housewarming gift. Gus knew how much Ostap had loved the crabapple tree at their former home, so he made sure there would be another one.
Ostap was the sort of man who took care of what was around him. He came from the old country and believed in making use of what he had. He tended bees, raised pigeons and rabbits, kept a garden, and cared for everything outside at both houses. He also made crabapple liquor. Bo remembers tasting it, which immediately made us wonder whether that recipe might be tucked away somewhere.
The two trees were apparently planted a little too close together. Bo says that now, although they have separate trunks, their branches are nearly inseparable. I like that detail. It feels right somehow.
On this particular visit, Bo pulled an old ladder from the shed—one that may actually be older than he is. It was the same ladder he used as a young teenager to paint the house. I watched him climb it with my phone in hand, strictly in case he went splat and I needed to call 911. Not to take video. Obviously.
He picked a large grocery bag of green apples. We had driven to Syracuse separately, so he headed home that evening. The next day, I kept looking at those beautiful red crabapples. I finally decided I was going outside to pull some down.
Two grocery bags later, I was done.
Well, mostly done. Bo’s mom looked at the three bags and was very concerned that no apples had been left for her. Fortunately, Bo’s sister already had a full bag of green apples in the basement. We had to remind Mom of that more than once. There were plenty of apples. Nobody was going without.
At first, I thought I would make apple pies with the green apples. But then I started thinking about jelly. Jelly would preserve the color and flavor of the fruit, and it would last longer than a pie. It also felt like the better way to honor an unexpectedly generous harvest.
I had made jelly as a kid, but it had been a long time. So I did some research, bought a steam juicer after watching someone demonstrate one on YouTube, picked up a canning rack and jar lifter, and got to work. From all those apples, I extracted almost three gallons of juice.
When the juice and sugar began their transformation into jelly, it was honestly so much fun to watch. The color is spectacular. There was, of course, a kitchen mess on both juicing day and jelly-making day. That is simply part of the contract with any project involving fruit, sugar, boiling liquid, and my kitchen. But I consider the whole thing a success—and I learned enough to make the next batch easier.
Next weekend, we will take jars back to Syracuse for Mom, Bo’s sisters, and maybe a few of Mom’s friends. I will send some to family, too. It feels fitting that the first jars should make their way back to the house and the trees that gave us the fruit.
While I was chopping apples for the steam juicer, I saved seeds as I went. After testing them in water and removing the floaters, I dried and stored the good ones. They will need cold stratification before planting, but when we are living at the farm, I plan to start them.
Eventually, I hope they will line the farm road or the back side of the vegetable garden at Pasture Prime Acres. Maybe they will give us jelly. Maybe we will uncover Ostap’s crabapple liquor recipe and try that, too. The deer will almost certainly expect their share.
For now, though, I am just happy that a housewarming gift given decades ago to a man who loved growing things has found its way to our kitchen—and, one day, to our farm.
