Susan Gibb writes
Honestly, the grape at this point tastes very dry. The crabapple–omigod the crabapple is going to be the best. The peach just tastes like fizzy peaches at this stage.
How much for a bottle of the crabapple?
Susan Gibb writes
Honestly, the grape at this point tastes very dry. The crabapple–omigod the crabapple is going to be the best. The peach just tastes like fizzy peaches at this stage.
How much for a bottle of the crabapple?
The price, as always, is simply friendship.
Wow. Just had a flash of Storyspacelike thinking. Each fruit from bud and blossom to its plump maturity, some swelling ripe and fragrant, some struggling under the attack of bugs or blight. Some may reach the textbox of the harvest, and, some separated from its pulp, some juice will group together with heat and sugar into jelly, others yeast and sugar into wine. Some wil remain behind as applesausce, or sparkling from a jar in slices. Some–especially peaches–never made it from the first cut to the bowl, destined instead to give immediate pleasure. Then the stages of the bubbling, rapid and fierce at first, soft and bill-lliping and steady as the minute hand of time. Later, months later, lolling on their sides in smooth green bottles on a rack. Or smiling down from shelves in cut-glass jars in a darkened basement. And peach pit saved and planted in the spring.
Think I need Storyspace?