Apples and drumlins

Kennedy Cruess spent her day off school preparing apples for sale.

It just so happens to be one of the finest days ever in the lee of the drumlin on the Campbell place; a place where the shape of the land was decided by the ice age; a place where old trees reach to the centre of the earth. Well, maybe not quite the centre—but close. Also this is a place where the candy-apples on display under the arbour of the roadside marketstand are a tiny perfect match for the hardwoods of October that brush the Rednersville sky.

“We use a tangy apple to offset the sweetness of caramelized candy—these apples are Liberty’s and we only have a few trees of them,” Colin Campbell tells me while holding a sample on a stick. We’re headed to the orchard, and all around is a chorus of children playing; of pond ducks and chickens free to run. “We have 15 acres of apples, over 3,000 trees—25 varieties. There are some from Mexico, Holland, the U.S.A.,” Colin grabs a tree branch from overhead. “Eighty five per cent of the apple’s nutrition is in the peel,” he points out. “These are Ambrosia; they’re a Canadian variety from BC. This is the first crop and we just picked them today.”

I stop to frame a photo. “We moved here from Toronto in the ’60s,” Colin continues. “The farm had existing orchards and my dad wanted to retire and grow things. I was 10 at the time. Later, after my wife Diane and I went to Guelph University, we took over the running of the place and have been doing it ever since.”

Colin sweeps his hand toward the waters of the Bay of Quinte. “A man who is now 85 years old and has been coming here since he was five tells me people have historically come here because of the sweetness of the fruit. The soil is Ameliasburg clay,” Colin pauses. “You see that rise over there?—that lump?—it’s really stony and practically the only stones on the property—a drumlin is what it is. The most northern drumlin in the County,” Colin says. I’m out of my geology league here and will research that one when I get home, I mumble to no one. Colin then gestures toward row upon row of trees that descend into the tall shadows of autumn— “Seven varieties of pears,” he proclaims— “Also one of the largest peach and cherry orchards east of Niagara!”

We talk about the industry and its changes as we walk the land. “There is now more demand for local fruit as a result of over 2,000 acres of apple trees being cut down to accommodate other land uses in the area in recent years,” Colin discusses as he leads the way. “Over here is one of the earliest sections of the original orchard where the trees are over 100 years old—we leave them here as a museum of sorts—they are a heritage Macintosh and were old when my folks bought the place,” he adds. Museum trees: Now I like the sound of that. I can picture in my mind the planting stock for the Macs being hand delivered by John Macintosh himself who developed the variety in the late 1800’s down the shoreline a ways: “The roots go down so deep they really do have a different flavour just like mature grape vines do,” Colin asserts.

Gillian McCurdy finds just what she was looking for.

With the apple being the oldest cultivated fruit known, it is entrenched as an icon in myth, legend and fact: William Tell, Garden of Eden, the Golden Apple, Johnny Appleseed: Say—who is the apple of your eye?

There are eight thousand varieties grown worldwide, with China being the largest producer with the U.S next. The choice of variety is based on suitable terroir, practicality of farming and economics: “These are Ida Reds, bred to replace the Northern Spy,” Colin tells me. “And here are Malling Nines…a dwarf variety and over on the other side are Malling 26’s,” Mallings I ask? “From the East Malling research station in England,” Colin answers. “Britain has revolutionized apple growing,” he continues. “Whereas it would take up to 15 years to grow a tree to bear fruit, now with dwarf trees we can plant more trees per acre and,” he reaches for a branch again, “these trees are only three to four years old and are already fruitbearing. We don’t need ladders to pick— everything is handpicked from ground level. We sell the fruit as well as press it into sweet cider, using some 40 apples and some pears to produce one litre.”

On our way back to the farmstand Colin reflects on the way of life of the orchard keeper. “I like seeing things grow—it’s a long process. I’ve waited 15 years for a pear. I found an old variety of trees down the road and sent cuttings from them to a tree nursery to be grafted to a root stock. They grew them for three years and then I planted them. I just got the first crop—two bushels of fruit!” he concludes.

“I enjoy the buds in spring to even now when I see the trees stripped clean—sad in one way but like the trees I guess we can now rest and not be on the watch for every element to come our way—hail, early frosts, diseases.”

Diane and Colin Campbell pause a moment amid a hectic apple harvest.

From the rise of hill, Colin surveys the large gatherings of families all around. “People love to come and see the apples on the trees and enjoy the orchard experience— while we’re open year round it seems like everything is coordinated to come together for this one weekend,” he muses.

The terroir of the slopes of the Bay of Quinte lends itself to a mighty fine sweet apple cider, I can attest. One that I now appreciate chilled in a tall wine glass as I fumble away with my new-fangled apple peeler/corer/everything device, making my first-ever apple crumble. Do you ever get that feeling that everything has conspired toward one particular moment in time: like apples and drumlins?