“First, I make cider, not beer. Beer is made from grains and hops. Cider is made from apples. Saying they are the same thing is like saying a loaf of bread and applesauce are the same. You wouldn’t do that, would you?” Bass shook his head, his eyes wide from the fervor in her tone. “Other than the fact that they both come in the same kind of bottles and are both fermented liquids, there aren’t many similarities. Never confuse the two again.”
She took a breath. “And to answer your question, I take notes of what I’m doing. That way if something goes wrong or really right, I know what I did and can try to replicate it.”
“Like a scientist?”
“Yes, like a scientist. There is some chemistry involved, but it’s more than that. There is a fair amount of instinct, too.” Code for “seeing colors in apple juice,” but he didn’t need to know that part. “Let’s get back to work.”
Bass pushed the broom around with gusto for a few more minutes, then stopped again.
“Have you always lived here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like apples?”
“Of course.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On what I’m using them for. Now quiet.”
The sweeping didn’t resume, and Sanna, eyes back on her notebook, girded herself for another onslaught.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?”
Surprised by the question, Sanna jerked her pen across the page. She turned to give him her full attention, taking in his floppy hair and dust-smudged legs. She could almost smell his little-boy smell from this distance, and her nose crinkled.
“It’s not personal. I don’t really like any children.”
She wasn’t sure what she expected him to do. Cry. Call her names. Stomp off and tell his dad. He did none of the above. He nodded his head and went back to sweeping.
“Maybe I’ll be the first.”
Sanna stared at him. Unlike her nieces, who had bluntly refused to do anything resembling work the few times they visited the orchard, Bass seemed okay, he’d done a good job on the sweeping and was using the dustpan as though he’d done it before. Maybe he could handle something a bit more interesting. She tucked away her journal, retrieved one of the carboys full of clear cider from the cooler, and set it on her workbench. Removing the S-shaped glass airlock that allowed gas out while keeping new air from entering, she set it aside to wash later.
“Bass, when you’re finished sweeping, bring me four of those crates. Careful not to break any and don’t touch the inside or near the lip of the bottles. Those are sanitized and ready for cider.”
While he did that, she prepped the cider for the next step—bottling and carbonation—measuring out sugar with a food scale.
“Does all that sugar make the cider sweet?”
“Nope, it’s food for the yeast. Once we put it in the bottles, the fresh yeast I’m going to add will eat the sugar, making carbon dioxide bubbles for a fizzy cider.”
Bass’s eyebrows scrunched together.
“Bubbles are yeast farts?”
Sanna bit her lip as she measured out the right amount of sugar, then dissolved it in water over a small burner.
“I’d never thought of it quite that way, but basically, yes, you’re right.”
“Cool.”
While the sugar mix warmed, she prepared the fresh yeast and put both the yeast and sugar water into a sanitized bucket. Finally, she transferred the cider out of the glass carboy and into a bucket, letting the sugar and yeast mix as the cider flowed.
“Why are you moving it if you’re just going to put it in bottles right away?”
Sanna took a deep breath, not used to so many interruptions. She reached for a blank notebook page and a pen.
“First, so that I don’t bottle any of the lees.” She pointed to the sediment at the bottom of the glass. “This is leftover yeast and sediment that I don’t want to bottle. Second, this is the work zone. Anytime you have a question—don’t interrupt when we’re in the work zone. I have to be very careful with my measurements or the bottles could explode—that’s happened before. Instead, write down the questions, and I’ll answer them all at the end of the day.” She handed him a small notebook and pen, both of which he shoved in his back pocket.
“Now comes the fun part. Get all the bottles out and lined up on the workbench.” She pointed to where she wanted them. While he did that, she set the bucket on a special shelf that would raise the bottom of the bucket above the tops of the bottles. Then she lined up the bottle capper and the sanitized caps. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to fill the bottles, and you’re going to cap them. We’ll do a few practice ones on empty bottles.”
She grabbed a bottle and fitted a cap onto the top. She set it on the capper and pulled down the lever, which crimped the cap onto the bottle.
“See how that worked?” Bass nodded. “Now you try.” She handed him a bottle and pointed to the caps. He did it perfectly on his first try. Not too shabby. It had taken her dad three tries to get it right. “Good. Ready to start?”
“Bring it.” Bass’s eyes focused on each bottle as she handed it to him, his mouth set in a grim line of concentration. Working together, it didn’t take long to fill all the bottles, and Sanna—much to her surprise—was a little disappointed it didn’t take longer.
CHAPTER SIX
Sanna and Bass had finished their work, and she’d sent him off with a snack and permission to run wild in the trees—as long as he could still see the house. She didn’t want to be responsible for losing him on the first day.
She opened the driver’s-side door of her truck and pulled hard on a lever until she heard the hood pop, then twisted the key, the engine sputtering a few times before catching. Before closing the door, she straightened the red wool blanket, which covered the torn vinyl seats held together with duct tape and positive thoughts. This beloved, frequently broken-down pickup was the truck her dad had used around the farm all her life—a dark forest green on the top and bottom thirds with a creamy white in the middle. Years of driving around the orchard meant scratches, which she regularly coated with rust preventer to keep chemistry from dissolving her beloved Elliot, named after the dragon in Pete’s Dragon she had loved so much as a kid.