The Scythe

photo from Wikipedia

A hand scythe came up at auction the other day. It was one of those grass scythes with the long curving wood handle. (A brush scythe would have had a shorter, thicker blade). As the auctioneer started the bidding, a man beside me said, "Boy I've swung one of those many a time."

Another man nodded. "My dad had us kids out all summer, sproutin' on the hillsides. Wore me out, I can tell you. Those things are heavier than they look."

I smiled, remembering my early days on this ridge. I had a scythe too, one of those wood-handled beauties that could put some muscles on a girl's arms. I had to learn to swing it right-handed because that's how most of them were made, for a right-handed swing. The swing had to be perfected too--swooping down and through the grass or brush and continuing the arc right up to shoulder height or thereabouts. Stopping the swing short meant losing the power of the speed and the quick cut. It was similar, I suppose to splitting wood with an axe--you swing as if you mean to bury that axe in the ground right up to the handle. The scythe required the same kind of force.

A year or two later I bought an aluminum handled scythe with a short, tough brush blade. It worked so much better for the filth, as it was called--that messy weed/small shrub/vines combination that grows along banks and ditches. I remember one year when I was cutting a ditchline in front of the house, and got into a yellow jacket's nest. I made for the house at top speed, shedding clothes as fast as I could. Those bees got inside my bib overalls and were hard at work as I stripped down. My sons watched me dancing in amazement, sure that I had lost my mind. I'd never gotten into a nest before and I gained a healthy respect for yellow jackets, I can tell you.

Young man sharpening a scythe, by Pekka Halonen 1891. From Wikipedia

As these thoughts passed through my mind at the auction I realized that those two men and I were part of probably the last generation (outside of the Amish) to have a personal connection to the scythe. In the late 1970's weedeaters with brushcutting blades became widely available and affordable, and the scythes were hung up in barns to gather dust. When I tell a story that includes the mention of a scythe, I have to throw in a quick definition for young audiences "You know, that long handled thing with the long blade that the Grim Reaper carries?" They know then what I am referring to; without the definition, they would not have a clue.


I still own a wood-handled scythe and even a replacement handle. I have one for sale, too, in my Marietta booth. I suppose men and maybe women of a certain age see it hanging there and recall the days when they were young and strong, swinging that heavy blade in a perfect arch on hot hillsides when life was simpler and a the swish of the scythe cleanly cutting grass was the only sound in the brilliant blueness of summer.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

An Apple Butter Kind of Day

Actually, it really wasn't. It rained. It poured. And then it rained some more. But thanks to a good neighbor, we were still able to make our apple butter with the loan of a canopy that worked nicely to keep us dry as we stirred.

We made our apple butter in steps. We made the sauce in advance, some last week and some 3 weeks ago, and put it in the freezer until we could get a date set for the cooking down. We settled on this Saturday and of course the rain moved in as soon as it heard the news. But with Pam's canopy and a little ingenuity we moved ahead.

The canopy covered our work area nicely. We worried about sparks possibly flying up from the wood fire and burning holes in the canopy so we set the cooking up outside of the shelter; we took the top plexiglas off a porch table and used the base to create a shelter over the kettle, sliding a piece of tin over the cooking sauce whenever the rain started up, and moving it aside as each shower passed by.

The fire gave us fits for a while; we had the wood covered but it still was not easy to get a good hot fire for a little while. We leaned some tin against the side of the kettle for a while and that seemed to help the fire get its breath, and then we were really cooking. Daughter-in-law Sandy washed jars and she and granddaughter Grace provided support while we stirred and stirred and stirred.

Each year the color of the sauce is different, depending on the apples we use. This year we had a good crop of Red Delicious, so we used those, some Rome and some Grimes Golden. The color is lovely, a nice reddish brown; and the flavor? Well, every year we think it's the best we've ever made, but this year's batch truly is delicious.

We started with 15 gallons of sauce. I follow the way my neighbor Belva Simons taught me and cook it down to about half of what we started with. We cook the sauce until it is boiling good and beginning to turn color; streaks of a dark gold will begin to appear and the boil cannot be stirred down. Then we add the sugar, slowly so that the sauce doesn't stop boiling. When all the sugar is in (20-25 pounds for my kettle, depending again on the apples and their sweetness), we continue cooking until the apple butter passes the "slump test." I don't know if that's the right term for it, but it describes what we're looking for very well--butter that does not weep and that holds its shape when a spoonful is placed on a plate. The whole cooking time is usually between 4 and 5 hours. (Add another 4-5 hours to make enough applesauce to fill the kettle).

When it was done I hurried inside to heat up the chili I'd made earlier and whip up a batch of cornbread. Fresh apple butter on biscuits is good; on cornbread it's ambrosia. While I did that, the men cleaned up the kettle and put away the tables, tin, and other things we used. Today we relaxed. Two of the guys played golf; grandchildren and Larry watched a movie and I did laundry and visited with my daughter-in-law.

The house is empty now; our company went home with apple butter, cider, eggs, gourds, butternut squash, apples, brownies and lots of hugs. I am washing up linens and towels and missing the sounds of their voices and laughter already.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.