Making Jars of Heaven
My Proctor family loves their apple butter, so much so that my uncle Frankie claims that he eats a pint a day and keeping him supplied alone is a job. Several years ago my mother and Aunt Carlene along with my uncles Frank, Johnny and at that time Kenneth began a family tradition of spending the day making apple butter at my mother’s house that lasted for several years and was brought back in 2017 six years after my mother’s death. Those first years were some memories most of us that attended will cherish forever and were sadly missed after my mother’s passing – we as a family left behind – just couldn’t seem to get it together to make apple butter again, for me, it just didn’t seem right – Ma wasn’t there orchestrating the process. A few months ago I opened the pantry at my house in Norwalk and there hiding in the depths of the cans of commercially produced foods was probably the last jar of apple butter my mother had a hand in making. I did what I knew would make her happy, I opened it and ate it – because that’s what it was lovingly made for. She would start the process along with Aunt Carlene several weeks before the actual day, by peeling, cutting, slicing, pre-cooking and freezing gallons of apple “sauce” that would be used on the actual day of apple butter making. They did this because they secretly loved doing it and well they also loved to complain about how hard they worked “with no help” might I add – to get the apples ready. My cousin, Dianna (Uncle Frankie’s daughter) and I volunteered several times to do whatever they needed us to do to
Ma supervising in 2009
stirring duties and my mother or Aunt Carlene testing the mixture often, by visually examining the mixture. Then at some point when deemed the right moment a truckload of sugar was added and the stirring took on an even more fierce momentum. This entire day wasn’t about the science of making apple butter, this day was about family and the importance of our history and tradition. My mother was raised in a large family of 11 children (two of who had already passed away by the time of my mother’s birth in 1942) where it was known that the children did their part to help feed so many mouths. The entire pig was used when slaughtered, there were chickens for eggs and meat, cows for milk, butter and meat and a garden the size of a football field. An orchard provided apples, peaches and pears all of which was “put up” or canned for those long cold winter months. I guess so many of us grandchildren got our love of canning honest – for me it’s very therapeutic and gives me a sense of accomplishment and relaxation. They knew the value and the importance of contributing to the wellbeing of their family. At some point nearing the end of the apple butter process my mother would throw in a large tub of red hots (that’s right those cinnamon bits we all love) which she always made a special trip to the Planktown Market to purchase along with a couple bottles of cinnamon oil. Once these additions were made there were more frequent visual tests and a new test was add where one of the sisters would run their finger through the apple butter on the spoon checking the separation and the thickness of the product. Uncle Frankie and my mother would start arguing at this point too, he saying it was ready to jar and Ma saying it needed to cook more, for some reason, my mother always won out and it was cooked longer. Near the end of the process after your arms are numb, the real fun begins in the jarring of the butter. My mother had this step down to a well-greased wheel, she sat up a jarring 
Uncle Frankie the Apple Butter king and his daughter Dianna
some left over that we would enjoy with a hearty lunch of homemade soup and a bologna sandwich…lunch? I guess it didn’t really take the entire day, just felt like it. As we gathered to celebrate our accomplishment – we listened to the same stories we have heard our entire lives, still loving each and every word that our aunts and uncles shared with us, stories I hope we can keep alive for the generations of Proctor’s to follow us. One of the best apple butter days was the last one we got to have with Uncle Kenneth, who at that time was deep into his battle with Alzheimer’s; however on that day you would have never know there was anything wrong with his mind, he shared stories of growing up, of being the oldest sibling, of making apple butter as a child and he did his share of stirring and knowledge giving that day – it was a great day! Last year we decided to revive our family tradition of making apple butter, this time with new faces in my cousins Jo and Arlene, who 
stepped up to the challenge and Aunt Corkey was there to guild us with her years of apple butter experience, and of course Uncle Frankie supervised the stirring and wood adding jobs, a different location, a new beginning but with the same wonderful family, meal, stories and memories that we share each time we get together. I felt my mother’s presence – as she took over and lead me this year to argue with Uncle Frankie, when he wanted to jar, I held my ground and said it needed to cook longer, I know I made you proud and happy Ma! I hope that every year for as long as we possibly can we gather on a crisp cool fall day and make apple butter for as long as we possibly can with the ones we love while we can.
I’m sharing a soup recipe I make quite often. Since moving to Detroit this year and having been coming here for work for the past 25 years I decided to make Peasant Soup for our apple butter day lunch – it’s close to what I get every time I visit Olga’s Kitchen. Make a big pot, share it and some memories with the ones you love!
I’m so thrilled to be a part of this family your words stir up some memories!