This was such a fun activity last winter. The local Christian elementary school was selling cases of Washington Apples as a fund raiser. Now you don't have to support Christian education, but everybody wants fresh, tree-ripened fruits instead of the painted green objects from the grocery stores. I believe the variety we ordered was called Jon-a-Golds, but I have no record of that. They were a cross between sweet and sour. That was the closest thing they had to Granny Smith Greens, which is my favorite. Unfortunately, we could not eat the apples fast enough and they started to get mealy. No big deal, we make applesauce. My father had just had his jaw broken (on purpose) and was limited in his meal options, anyway. We took two cases of apples on early Sunday morning and stood around the sink and trashcans pealing and cutting them up. We had quite a lot of fun and enjoyed the activity. We grabbed the largest pot we had and poured orange juice over the first three inches of apples in the pot. We put the pot on the stove at medium-low and stirred as best we could. We filled the pot. . .twice! and poured a little extra orange juice over the apples when they started to brown. This was great because the apples were so good they needed no extra sugar.

This day was a perfect example of why you should never cook with your husband and your mother. I wanted the apples to stay a good bit chunky. I imagined baking the apples into a beautiful pastry as it was the season for such fun activities. Paul wanted true applesauce, as cooked as possible. Just like Mott's. My mom agreed with him. Course, I can understand because my dad needed mushy foods. So, I reluctantly agreed. Truthfully, I didn't care much when all was said and done because the applesauce was really good. We even took it to some friend's house as a dessert with cinnamon sprinkled on top.

I should start calling to make sure that school is going to order apples again this year. This time, however, we're getting more apples so I can have some my way!