pressed cider

Mom had a friend from church

who had a friend who had a cousin

who sold fresh pressed cider in gallon jars

at the end of his lane along the river road;

she would buy a jug or two for cold evenings

for a hot drink while watching Lawrence Welk.

One weekend, she sent me

for two empty jugs from the garage

and we drove out river road.

Near the county line we pulled up

to a lean-to shed with a rusty metal roof,

table made of plywood and sawhorses

with jugs of cider in different colored glass,

a handmade sign declared,

Fresh Pressed Cider

$2 – Thanks for Any Old Jars

I put the empty jugs under the table,

said I’d like to learn how to press cider.

Mom and him talked and she agreed

to bring me by next week

to spend a day and learn.

Next Saturday, before first light

mom took me out to the cider man’s place

said Dad would be by at 5 to pick me up.

When mom left, we climbed in an old pickup

that smelled of apples, dirt and oil.

Down a gravel road he had me get out

to open an orchard gate;

we drove under the trees.

He said lets load up and not to worry

about worms or damaged apples.

We drove away when the bed was full

and didn’t stop to shut the gate.

I asked about the gate and he said

he wanted to leave before owner came

and wanted paid for downed apples.

He laughed and said, “That’s life.”

Back at his place,we piled apples on the ground

next to the press with coal shovels.

I ran the press while he loaded apples

dirt and worms and rot and all went in the hopper

I questioned him about all the worms and such.

He said we’ll strain it through cheese cloth

to keep the big pieces out.

He laughed and said, “That’s life.”

Over a baloney on white bread sandwich

I asked if he had family; he said he did at one time,

but one day he came home and she, his money,

his kid were gone and he never seen them again.

He laughed and said, “That’s Life.’

At 5 , Dad pulled up in our black Ford station wagon,

said its time to go, asked if I behaved or

played more than I worked.

Cider man winked, said I did good and

worked all day and could come back anytime and

gave me a jug of cider to take home.

In the front seat, Dad asked if I learned anything

and called me a dumbass for working all day

for $2 jug of cider and that I wouldn’t

be going back to work for free.

In the evening, mom made hot cider with cinnamon

to drink as we listened to polka on an accordion.

I didn’t want fresh pressed cider, even if

the big chunks were filtered out.

I told Mom I’d had enough cider for one day;

she gave me milk and told my siblings

the residue in the bottom of the mug was the best part

I watched as family drank hot cider, residue and all.

I laughed and said, “That’s life.”

12-12-20

**note from poet: 11/12