SIX FEET UNDER
Thanksgiving 2015, the first since my husband’s death, we climb the hill to offer him
the last cider of the season. Our granddaughter pours the libation around the homemade grave, on creeping thyme, heather, and love-in-a-mist. Richard Coutant, a small-town lawyer, historian, photographer, traveler, builder of bicycles, loved the orchard
and tended the trees until cancer overwhelmed him. This has been a banner year for
apples: Pound Sweets and Baldwins hang on the trees in late November. Family and
friends keep showing up to turn the press. We can’t stop crushing this tart, sweet fruit.
Or boiling cider down to jelly so strong it stings.
By Verandah Porche