Orchardists work year round for a brief season of plenty. Their success depends on months of pruning, grafting, fertilizing, spraying, keeping down weeds, and replanting. The harvest season (presuming it has not been a disastrous winter) brings a sense of opulence that is hard to beat. All those sweet and fragrant fruits appear to fall into one’s lap as if they are a gift directly from the gods. One would be tempted to do nothing but drown in their redolent pleasures if it were not for the hard work of gathering them in and putting them up for winter. How sad that so many of us today, limited to local supermarkets, have lost the true joy of plucking and eating fruit in full flavor, right off the tree.

These basic satisfactions are hardly new. Fruit has been treasured from earliest times—pomology was one of the innovations of ever-developing agriculture. The arts and crafts of the orchard were practiced early; ancient Greeks and Romans planted imported dried figs to establish their own groves (the tiny seeds germinated in the ground), and they similarly grew such other tree-borne fruits as apples, pears, plums, pomegranates and mulberries. Aeons of far-flung conquest introduced Europeans to peaches, apricots, nectarines, and citrons from the East, and contributed to the range of what could be produced locally. By the time of the European Renaissance fruit-growing reflected centuries of experimentation and evolving horticultural practices, tools, and varieties, each adapted to local conditions. Grafting had become the most important tool of propagation as seeds rarely grew true; it involved cutting short sprigs of the desired fruit tree and inserting and tying them into slits cut into the host tree—usually one chosen for its hardy and sturdy roots. With good wrapping and regulated moisture, the wounded parts merged and healed into one viable plant, a genetically-identical clone that enabled the spread of superior species throughout Europe. A series of other strategies made it possible to extend the agricultural zones of certain trees—for example, in areas where the growing season was short, espaliered trees were pruned and trained flat against trellised walls for maximum sun. This rich European heritage was carried (in the form of slips, root stocks and seeds) to the New World, where orchards became standard resources on family farms and a symbol of excellent management. Peter Kalm, mid-18th-century botanist traveling in the colonies, noted the presence of orchards everywhere, a sharp contrast to Europe where only the wealthy kept them.

It has been obvious to orcharists that the fruit of certain trees was superior, being borne more heavily, more flavorful, of the desired juiciness and texture, ripening early, middle, or late season, or storing longer. A kind of selectivity and perhaps inadvertent hybridizing guided the development of different strains. By the 18th century, William Prince of Flushing, Long Island, then the most erudite and important orchardist in the New World, ran a booming business and sold grafted orchard stock to customers throughout the colonies. Among these was Thomas Jefferson, who purchased a number of trees, including Esopus Spitzenburg, the apple of New York origin that was to become his favorite. Prince’s catalog was extensive; his 1793 listings included graftings of several hundred varieties including over 30 apples and 33 pears, numerous cherries, plums, apricots, nectarines, peaches, figs, and quince, a mixture of older European strains and newer “discovered” American ones.

Orchards demanded work. Men tended to do the heavy work of maintaining the trees, while women did the comparably heavy work of utilizing their produce. The fruit must have been worth it. Colonial cooks put up pots of jams and preserves if they had access to expensive sugar, and indulged in pies, puddings, and sauces. Root cellars held fruit that did not require sugar for preservation; fruit presses juiced some for conversion into something alcoholic, and many a hand peeled, cut, and strung pieces that were dried  for winter use. 

In the 19th century, farm chores were still arduous but somewhat different, as the work-saving cook stove, canning jar, and great numbers of geared cast-iron peelers broadened kitchen horizons. Farmers expanded their orchards, turning more of their land to fruit growing and sending great quantities to city markets. 

Rural families continued to process fruit for their own table; city dwellers who benefited from such efforts no longer grew their fruit but bought it by the bushel, each in season, to put up for winter use. Both used the early canning jars (from the start called “fruit jars”) that were devoted more to orchard crops than to the results of vegetable patches or annual butchering. Summer kitchens removed the heavy work, heat, and clutter from the house kitchen, and sometimes offered the space for storing special peelers, corers, and slicers, along with large canning kettles, basket racks, and reusable canning jars. At first these were sealed with gasket-like rubber rings placed between jar rim and lid (reusable zinc or glass lids, later to be replaced eventually the familiar two-piece composition lid in use today). Incidentally, zinc lids came with “re-formers,” a threaded ring that corrected any damage caused by breaking the seal of a previous usage, and reshaping them into their sealable form. (I would love to obtain one- does anyone out there know of any?) Geared and belted cherry pitters, peach peelers, and apple parers, clear adjuncts to abundant fruit and new canning technology, completed the trilogy and speeded up the work. Jelly-bag stands and assorted strainers eliminated the need for extra sets of hands. Despite the helpful gadgetry, and no matter how well ventilated the summer kitchen might be, it was still hard work but a valued contribution out-of-season dishes.

By the end of the 19th century, a contradictory theme was surfacing. In hard contrast to the heavy work engendered by orchards, urban consumers were now courted with promotional images that romanticized fruit picking. An entire range of trade cards portrayed young women and children who seemed to be more involved in fun than work. They were usually dressed in delicate fashions and carried graceful baskets—almost like innocent mythological nymphs of the field, or French royalty playing at shepherds and shepherdesses before their Revolution. A reconciliation of these opposing images suggests that commercial canning—Heinz , Van Camp and such—were working at truly penetrating the urbanized kitchen, taking over, and replacing home canning with a bucolic, no-work product.

Today we face other issues. With pressure to produce in quantity, modernizing commercial orchards focused increasingly on the bottom line. Old varieties of orchard fruit have been scrapped, particularly if they did not carry their weight (sometimes literally). Some peach branches were so laden with heavy fruit that they bent to the ground and sometimes snapped. They needed labor-intensive propping and were not always economically sound; likewise those that bore heavily only every other year or could not withstand shipping were not lucrative enough. And so such fine varieties as Belle of Georgia, a white and heavily perfumed peach verging on a very fragrant apricot, began to disappear. The produce sections of supermarkets were just about down to Macintosh (great eating in the orchard, but quick to deteriorate once picked) and Delicious apples (good for storing and winter eating only), a pitifully small choice, until the recent resurgence of interest in heirloom varieties. Now it is sometimes possible to buy some of those wonderfully-flavored Gravensteins, Newtown Pippins, Snow Apples, and Wealthies that were once commonplace in home orchards and to choose the one that would work best in a particular recipe. (Snows don’t brown when cut and are great in salads.) And although Greenings (the standard pie apple) and crab apples (tangy miniatures for pickling or jellies) appear to be almost lost to us, a number of new varieties are taking their places. Most encouraging is grower concern with quality, variety, and the ability of fruit to hold its texture and flavor despite under-ripe picking, lengthy storage, and shipping; most dismaying is the public demand for perfect-looking fruit and the pressure on orchardists to use chemicals that do not always wash off.

Today we are still in love with the sweet harvest. Throughout the country orchards are opened to the public on a pick-your-own basis, a system that has helped orchardists deal with the shortage of seasonal labor just as its appeal to the consumer is about good prices, quality, and family outings. Of course, the new system also has in its favor the flavor and texture of the fruit just picked combined with the pleasure of tree, sky, meadow underfoot, and the sounds of the natural world.

Recipes

If you find yourself drowning in abundance and hard-pressed to use up the fine fruit before it spoils, you may wish to try one of these historical guides.

This early cherry recipe reflects the influence of Medieval spicing. The mustard is surprising in a sweet dish but helps to bring up flavor, and you may find it interesting. Note that the sweetened syrup is added after baking, which probably keeps the crust from getting soggy.