ANTIQUE APPLES
WOMAN SUMMONS FLAVORS OF THE PAST FROM HERRIDGEFIELD ORCHARD
RIDGEFIELD
Figuring she'd never have time to bang the ball around the tennis court, Susan
Christopherson dug it up.
The soil underneath?
"It was moon dirt. About that fertile too."
But in 1994, when the ground started sprouting weeds, a sign of hope and fertility, Christopherson began planting her antique apple orchard a few yards from her farmhouse.
Her first Cox's Orange Pippin tree went in during 1995. Over the past few years, she dug holes for another 41 varieties with such fairytale names as Belle de Boskoop, Calville Blanc D'Hiver, Kandil Sinap and King David.
Exotic these apples are.
Respectively, they were first cultivated in The Netherlands, France, Turkey and, well, Arkansas.
Once the Ridgefield tennis court gave way to the fledgling orchard, the short new trees joined the massive old Gravenstein, a longtime apple czar on the rural acreage.
And Christopherson hasn't stopped planting.
As the semi-dwarf trees of Spitzenburg and Ashmeade's Kernel bear fruit, the orchard is far from fully formed, or even close to full grown, Christopherson says. "It's in its embryonic stages."
Nevertheless, her Old World Apples have more uses than personal pleasure and homemade pies. Christopherson plans to make a business of their flesh and skins.
Ideas for antiques
Christopherson's Old World Apples sign stands at the end of the drive on the five-acre Ridgefield place, even if this year's harvest falls short of supplying a thriving enterprise.
With the help of daughter Sidsel "Sid" Anderson, who owns Masala Maza Foods, a home-based Indian cuisine products company in Portland, Christopherson wants other parts of the universe to enjoy her Old World apples when there are enough of them.
Recipe development isn't in the cards, Christopherson says: "There are lots and lots of apple recipes out there."
But she believes interest in heirloom fruits, food and plants is catching on. Christopherson grows some "younger" apples, such as the low-maintenance Liberty, but "heirloom" kinds make up the bulk of her orchard. For apples, "heirloom" generally means a variety must be at least 80 years old.
Though her ambitions are on cottage-industry scale rather than big business, Christopherson is juggling ideas for a mail-order undertaking that offers wooden gift boxes of heirloom apples.
Mail-order apples have a market: Many heirloom varieties are long keepers, and some improve with age, says Anderson, who recalls eating firm, crisp Northern Spies in January that were plucked in October. "Some can last forever. It's amazing."
Christopherson has played with the idea of developing an autumn apple-lovers' destination, where people can taste, test and buy apples.
Among all the possibilities, a hard cider business appeals the most. Cider apples don't require perfect looks heirlooms aren't known for their even features and the drink is gathering more fans.
Rediscovered niches
In former centuries, apples were grown for specific purposes. Thick-skinned types were ideal for storage; thin-skinned for on-the-spot use, sauces and pies.
Fruits ranged in texture from crisp to mealy and from tart to sweet flavors. A proper storing apple was harvested at the end of the season (still true), unlike the Gravenstein, which comes on early and stores poorly.
We demand less of our apples these days, mostly eating them for snacks or popping them in lunch bags. Heirlooms encourage us to use apples for what they're best at. Like wine varietals, each apple offers its gifts.
Just testing
As Christopherson walks through her rows of fruit trees, which are decorated with an autumn palette of orange, green and speckled apples, she envisions adding more trees to her 42 varieties. "I hope to keep about 250 trees, but it might be 300."
Though she battles with apple scab on her 10 Spitzenburgs, and copes with premature fall of the oblong-shaped Kandil Sinap, she's had good fortune with a number of trees: Cox's Orange Pippin, King David, Belle de Boskoop, the sturdy German Alkemene and delicious Calville Blanc.
"I'm testing," she says philosophically, knowing she's committed to her orchard for a long time. Her trees took from three to five years to bear fruit; larger trees take much longer.
Still, she's had some surprises, including her mystery trees in the east field. When she bought the trees at a local nursery sale, the nametags faded before she recorded them. "I've figured out about all but four," she says.
Why apples?
When Christopherson was a child in South Dakota, she became attached to apple trees. Between the blizzards and freezes, she recalls, "Dad always had apple trees. Somehow they survived."
She loved the trees and worried about them. "I always panicked when he'd go out there and prune them. It looked like he was killing the trees."
Their apples weren't lookers, but they tasted much better than the ubiquitous Red Delicious. Christopherson's mother's pies "were legendary," she says, a reputation her own Cox's Orange Pippin creation may earn.
An accomplished gardener, Christopherson never lost her affection for apple trees and does all she can to treat them gently, though pruning shears are part of her daily orchard uniform. Partially motivated by the superb taste of an apple grown close to home ("When you eat one straight off the tree, it's a whole different experience"), she pursues what she cares about.
"I do want to do something that I love, and I just love these old apples."
The soil underneath?
"It was moon dirt. About that fertile too."
But in 1994, when the ground started sprouting weeds, a sign of hope and fertility, Christopherson began planting her antique apple orchard a few yards from her farmhouse.
Her first Cox's Orange Pippin tree went in during 1995. Over the past few years, she dug holes for another 41 varieties with such fairytale names as Belle de Boskoop, Calville Blanc D'Hiver, Kandil Sinap and King David.
Exotic these apples are.
Respectively, they were first cultivated in The Netherlands, France, Turkey and, well, Arkansas.
Once the Ridgefield tennis court gave way to the fledgling orchard, the short new trees joined the massive old Gravenstein, a longtime apple czar on the rural acreage.
And Christopherson hasn't stopped planting.
As the semi-dwarf trees of Spitzenburg and Ashmeade's Kernel bear fruit, the orchard is far from fully formed, or even close to full grown, Christopherson says. "It's in its embryonic stages."
Nevertheless, her Old World Apples have more uses than personal pleasure and homemade pies. Christopherson plans to make a business of their flesh and skins.
Ideas for antiques
Christopherson's Old World Apples sign stands at the end of the drive on the five-acre Ridgefield place, even if this year's harvest falls short of supplying a thriving enterprise.
With the help of daughter Sidsel "Sid" Anderson, who owns Masala Maza Foods, a home-based Indian cuisine products company in Portland, Christopherson wants other parts of the universe to enjoy her Old World apples when there are enough of them.
Recipe development isn't in the cards, Christopherson says: "There are lots and lots of apple recipes out there."
But she believes interest in heirloom fruits, food and plants is catching on. Christopherson grows some "younger" apples, such as the low-maintenance Liberty, but "heirloom" kinds make up the bulk of her orchard. For apples, "heirloom" generally means a variety must be at least 80 years old.
Though her ambitions are on cottage-industry scale rather than big business, Christopherson is juggling ideas for a mail-order undertaking that offers wooden gift boxes of heirloom apples.
Mail-order apples have a market: Many heirloom varieties are long keepers, and some improve with age, says Anderson, who recalls eating firm, crisp Northern Spies in January that were plucked in October. "Some can last forever. It's amazing."
Christopherson has played with the idea of developing an autumn apple-lovers' destination, where people can taste, test and buy apples.
Among all the possibilities, a hard cider business appeals the most. Cider apples don't require perfect looks heirlooms aren't known for their even features and the drink is gathering more fans.
Rediscovered niches
In former centuries, apples were grown for specific purposes. Thick-skinned types were ideal for storage; thin-skinned for on-the-spot use, sauces and pies.
Fruits ranged in texture from crisp to mealy and from tart to sweet flavors. A proper storing apple was harvested at the end of the season (still true), unlike the Gravenstein, which comes on early and stores poorly.
We demand less of our apples these days, mostly eating them for snacks or popping them in lunch bags. Heirlooms encourage us to use apples for what they're best at. Like wine varietals, each apple offers its gifts.
Just testing
As Christopherson walks through her rows of fruit trees, which are decorated with an autumn palette of orange, green and speckled apples, she envisions adding more trees to her 42 varieties. "I hope to keep about 250 trees, but it might be 300."
Though she battles with apple scab on her 10 Spitzenburgs, and copes with premature fall of the oblong-shaped Kandil Sinap, she's had good fortune with a number of trees: Cox's Orange Pippin, King David, Belle de Boskoop, the sturdy German Alkemene and delicious Calville Blanc.
"I'm testing," she says philosophically, knowing she's committed to her orchard for a long time. Her trees took from three to five years to bear fruit; larger trees take much longer.
Still, she's had some surprises, including her mystery trees in the east field. When she bought the trees at a local nursery sale, the nametags faded before she recorded them. "I've figured out about all but four," she says.
Why apples?
When Christopherson was a child in South Dakota, she became attached to apple trees. Between the blizzards and freezes, she recalls, "Dad always had apple trees. Somehow they survived."
She loved the trees and worried about them. "I always panicked when he'd go out there and prune them. It looked like he was killing the trees."
Their apples weren't lookers, but they tasted much better than the ubiquitous Red Delicious. Christopherson's mother's pies "were legendary," she says, a reputation her own Cox's Orange Pippin creation may earn.
An accomplished gardener, Christopherson never lost her affection for apple trees and does all she can to treat them gently, though pruning shears are part of her daily orchard uniform. Partially motivated by the superb taste of an apple grown close to home ("When you eat one straight off the tree, it's a whole different experience"), she pursues what she cares about.
"I do want to do something that I love, and I just love these old apples."
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