By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)
In the fall the apples got ripe,
All the orchards had boxes full.
Ripe ones falling to the ground,
Time for cider making it was.
“Pick up all you want,
don’t take what we have paid to be picked,"
that is what the orchard manager said.
I grinned for it was cider time.
Wait until dark we did,
Me and two of my good buds.
Borrowed a wheelbarrow from
The railroad shed.
Down to the orchard with two lanterns,
Pick up apples and fill the wheelbarrow.
Trudge back up the tracks,
Take those apples to our garage.
Borrow the sausage grinder from the house,
Get a wash tub and began to grind.
Grind those apples yes we did,
Then put them in a clean feed sack.
Twist and turn, wring them out,
Get that apple juice into a big earthen jug.
Put the wheelbarrow back,
Put a bung in that old jug.
Some raisins and a few cakes of yeast,
Put a water valve on that jug.
Wrap it in some gunny sacks,
Let it work for a few days.
Soon hard cider we did have,
Time for a party in the garage.
Drank that cider,
Oh yes we did.
Oh what a hangover we did have,
And our bowels did
A revolution have,
But it was a boy's life.
A fall ritual it became
As we got better each following year.
Ah life in Montvale,
For three boys who found something to do.