New england apple butter

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Fall is the season of new england. there is no doubt about it in my book (blog?); it’s the legend of sleepy hollow, pumpkins and jack-o’s, mulled cider, outside fires, and a carpet of stars shining way, way up in the night. it’s the harvest moon, lace-ups, and dozens of worn down gravestones, crooked like teeth. Its apples that my good neighbor brought me.

in new england it happens when summer barely ends. the nights get cooler, and the trees start to fade even as the grass gets greener still.

The mile mark for me is when the farmer down the road drives his tractor up into our field to cart off the hay he baled way back in summer’s dawn. winter food for his lovely cows that i’m happy to provide. i know then the time is nigh to pack up and make our yearly move back to the city.

In fact, i’m already there. it came earlier this year. with a trip down south to my in-laws and travel across a few seas coming soon, we had to pack up and get down sooner than normal. so i brought my beloved new england back with me.

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