When I was a child, my family would choose a crisp October day to go pick apples from an apple orchard. We three kids didn't necessarily like apples, but apple picking was a different story. We would grab a bucket and race out into the orchard, each looking for the perfect tree weighted down with ripe apples. It had to be a good climbing tree, one that allowed a child the ability to walk out end of the branch if need be to pick that fat crisp apple. We would also spend some time on the ground looking for the most rotten, oozy apples we could find, not to take home, but to throw at each other.
Once home, mom would take the 10-20 lbs of apples to make applesauce. Dad would help peel them, and we would marvel at how he could get the peel off in one piece. Each of us kids would also be put to peeling, or washing, or cutting duty as well; although if recall correctly we never did last the whole process. After hours of simmering on the stove, mom's applesauce would be done. It would be a rich cinnamon brown, sweet and tender. We would eat bowl after bowl and make applesauce sandwiches as well.
To this day, when a crisp autumn afternoon rolls in I think of that applesauce. I've never been able to duplicate it, there was no recipe, it was always just to taste, so mom can't help me out in that department. Not that there are any apple orchards around here, it is just too hot.