The Simplicity of Cider Quotes

“In a few moments, pale yellow-green dots flashed all around them. The longer they waited, the more dots appeared, little stars twinkling just for them.
"Are these fireflies?"
Sanna nodded. "There are always more of them here than in any other part of the orchard. It's better than fireworks."
"We don't have fireflies in California."
Sanna looked around her and gently cupped her hands around a bug that had flown close to them.
"Look inside." She held her hands out to Bass, who peeked between her fingers at the creature who flashed in her makeshift cage.
"Can I try?"
"I insist. We can't go back until you catch your first firefly."
Sanna let hers go and it flew straight for Bass's white T-shirt. He gently cupped it and peeked inside. Watching his eyes widen in amazement, Sanna understood something she'd always missed. While kids were messy, distracting, and obviously a ton of work, they also opened a path to the past. Through Bass's wonder, she felt ten years old again- catching her first fireflies and discovering the magic of the Looms.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“You don't have to like me, but I'd like to make working with me less difficult for you. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it. But I'm not going anywhere."
Sanna watched him say these words, giving her permission to set the rules- yet she could really only focus on his soft pink lips and how she wanted a cider that was precisely that color. It would be sweet and crisp and bubbly. Something you could drink and drink and never get enough of- each sip would reveal a different shade to the flavor, from a lush rose to a pale blush.
She had to know what lips that color tasted like, so she leaned forward and kissed him. Barely a whisper, the briefest of touches on his fascinating lips, with a hint of the toasty cider they'd had with dinner. Her senses lit up like Christmas lights. She pulled back even faster than she'd leaned in. The surprise she saw on his face matched her own.
"I don't know why I..." Her voice trailed off. Colors still crackled around her.
Isaac moved an inch closer, leaning in to inhale near her ear, but he didn't touch her, didn't push her any further. His face was so close she could count the silver flecks in his beard.
"I'm glad you did. I like you. You're interesting, smell unexpectedly like roses, and are obviously gifted." He waved a hand at the cidery as he took a shaky breath. "The few times I've made you laugh have made my days, and I hope to succeed at it again. If that will be a problem, let me know. And, Sanna, I give you permission to kiss me whenever you want.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“He touched the dangling branches, the spring bright leaves hiding baby green apples, a first glimpse at the harvest to come. Everything around him was new and fresh with so much growing left to do. Yet with all the new growth, the trees had aged bark, wrinkled and scarred where branches had been trimmed off. He could almost feel the roots winding deeper into the earth, stretching themselves ever farther while their crowns reached to the sun.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Happiness is always worth remembering, even when it was temporary.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Dad always says that when a lady says she is fine, she’s really just angry at you that you don’t know the real reason she’s angry.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Sometimes what looks like happiness is just people making do.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“While kids were messy, distracting, and obviously a ton of work, they also opened a path to the past.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Eventually, Sanna and Isaac joined everyone at the table, not even noticing that the stick she'd laid on the counter, still poking out of its plastic bag, had burst into full bloom sometime in the last ten minutes.
Only Einars noticed the white petals with the soft pink blush and delicate yellow center that popped open when it had no right to. He turned to look at the large, happy family circling the turkey, laughing and smiling, bigger than they'd been in twenty years.
Happiness had returned to Idun's.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“This batch is called Fudge, and you'll find it goes surprisingly well with ice cream."
Sanna took a sip and ate another bite, so Eva did the same, skeptical that a hard cider would go well with dessert. She sipped the dark amber liquid, which had a lazy effervescence. It was sweet, and the subtle fruit notes enhanced those in the hot fudge and vanilla. There wasn't any bitterness or dryness to confuse the taste buds. Closer to a port, really, but easier to drink.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“She pointed at Eva's sundae. "At least try it. Wilson's has the best. You can't say you've been to Door County unless you've had their ice cream."
Eva scraped off a bite of whipped cream and ate it. She paused to enjoy the sweetened topping. It had been a long time since she'd had ice cream. She took a bigger spoonful, one that had butterscotch and marshmallow on it. Bliss.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“I'm in love with this cider. Actually all the ciders," Lou said. She had wavy, dark brown hair, and the way Al watched her- it was as if the world would end if he stopped. "You have so many different types. I would love to build a menu around it."
Sanna looked confused.
"A menu?"
"I have a restaurant in Milwaukee, and these ciders would make a fantastic pairing for a special tasting menu. For example, Toasty Dark Brown would go beautifully with roasted chicken and root vegetables- I'm thinking beets, parsnips, and fingerling potatoes- with a sauce made from the cider." She took another sip of the cider and smacked her lips- her eyes drifted off to another place, the same way Sanna's did when she envisioned new ciders. "And thyme, maybe rosemary, I'll need to play with it. Anyway, you get the idea.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Everyone watched the older gentleman wearing a smeared white apron who did all the cooking. It was Mr. Smoot, a longtime friend of her dad's. He gave her a nod of recognition right before he dumped an entire bucket of red potatoes into the boiling cauldron of water, then added a huge scoop of salt.
"What's the white stuff?" Bass asked.
"That's the salt. The fish boil here is just four ingredients: water, salt, potatoes, and whitefish from Lake Michigan. Some places add in corn on the cob or onions, but I like their simple approach best."
"So what happens?"
"In a little while, they'll add another basket that's full of whitefish and more salt. As the fish cooks, the oil will rise to the top. They have a special trick for removing it you aren't going to want to miss. It's the best part. Then we go inside, fill a plate, then pour warm melted butter and lemon over it and eat until we're stuffed." Sanna's stomach growled. She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed fish boils here. Rustic and delicious.
As they waited for the fish to cook, she answered Bass's and Isaac's questions, but saved the best part as a secret. When everyone began to gather around the cooking pit, Sanna maneuvered Bass to the front so he could have a perfect view for the grand finale with her and Isaac behind him. When Mr. Smoot splashed the kerosene on the fire, it caused the fish oil to boil over the edge of the pot into the fire, making a huge flare- like a fireball. Bass jumped and the crowd oohed as one.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“She set ice cream on the counter, pulled the pie out of the oven, and set it on a blue and white ceramic trivet. As she cut and served the dessert, still bubbling from the oven, a dollop of filling plopped onto her hand. She made the faintest of squeaks, not enough to disturb Einars and Bass, but Isaac noticed. Hell, he felt it. Without a word, he doused a towel in cold water and took her arm. He rubbed the spot to make sure the filling was washed off completely, then held the cool towel over the burn. He kept his eyes on the pale skin, luminescent in the firefly light, not wanting to make eye contact with her- afraid he wouldn't see his own feelings reflected in her face. Instead he focused on the smoothness of her skin, and the rose scent wafting and twining with the cinnamon. In the dim light, it was all too easy to forget they weren't alone.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Isaac took a long swig from the unmarked bottle. He'd tasted her cider before, but this bottle was completely different, yet just as wonderful. The apple was more prominent, yet not sweet, almost funky but in a good, blue-cheese way. He held the bottle up to the light and could see the sediment swirling in the bottom.
"This is amazing- so different from the other one."
Sanna grinned.
"You really like Olive? I wasn't sure when I blended it. Not everyone likes the murkiness."
"Olive?"
Sanna leaned against the counter, putting her weight on her wrist as she studied him for a long moment, her eyes squinting. She took a long drink from her own bottle.
"I see colors when I make ciders. I can't explain it. Each juice has its own hue. That's what those paintings represent."
She pointed at the watercolors over the fireplace. "A new color comes to me, and I blend the juices until I can re-create it in the flavor. And this one is Olive."
"You color-code your ciders?" He struggled to understand what she was telling him.
"No." She reached across the counter and pulled her journal toward her. She opened it and handed it to Isaac. As she sipped her cider, he studied the page, then the next page, then the next. On each was a swatch of layered color, all wildly different from one another- reds, greens, teals, colors he didn't really have names for. Next to the colors were measurements, apple varieties, percentages, and flavor notes. Scribbles filled the margins and equations contained both numbers and words. Things like sugars and acidity were measured and tested. It was part recipe book, part coloring book, and part wine label, with a hint of spell book. Looking at it was like opening a tiny door into the back of her head. She saw things that no one else did, an imaginary world of cider only she could see.
"You can see the color in your head?"
"It's the easiest way to explain it. A color pops into my head, and I know what it will taste like. When I blend the different raw ciders together, I know I have it right when it matches what I've imagined.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“You brewed this?"
Sanna cringed at the term brew, but didn't feel like going into the difference between brewing and fermenting- so she nodded and focused on her food. That way, she couldn't pay attention to how his long fingers held the glass in his hands as he studied the color. He may as well have been studying her. She felt exposed and naked as he took another sip. Did he like it? Hate it? Not everyone liked cider, and normally she didn't care. She didn't want to care now. Instead, she built the perfect forkful of Parmesan, lettuce, and crouton rather than watch him- but that didn't stop her from hearing the clink of glass on his teeth as he took a much longer sip.
"That's astounding," he said. "It goes so much better with the meal than any red wine I've ever had." He smacked his lips and took another sip. "It really lets the food shine."
Sanna had to respond. She couldn't ignore him no matter how much she wanted to. She couldn't keep eating, then escape with a plate of dessert to the loft as she usually did. She couldn't rewind time to the beginning of the summer when she only thought about the next cider she wanted to blend. Or ignore that the memory of him washing her hands after her dad's accident had played through her mind before she'd fallen asleep every night that week.
"Thank you." That's all she could muster and hoped it would be enough. She could feel her father watching her, and Mrs. Dibble half listening to their very one-sided conversation. She sipped her own cider and enjoyed the burst of soothing rich brown that rushed her senses. Toasty really wasn't the right term. It was lush and alive, like peat or a balanced dark chocolate.
"Sanna, this is amazing." His voice was soft and rumbling as he tried to keep the conversation from prying ears and eyes. When did their chairs become so close? They had an entire table. His voice in her ear was rich, just like the cider was in her throat. She couldn't help but look at him, and his face was so close. Everything about him was rich and balanced. He was the physical embodiment of this cider. Would she discover more layers the longer she knew him? He was close enough that the flecks of gold in his eyes sparkled at her like the cider's missing effervescence. He was close enough for her to smell the cider on his breath, the color of it making her light-headed and giddy.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“The lasagna filled a huge roasting pan, covered in thick browned cheese that was crispy in the corners.
"Get me a corner piece, and I'll owe you one," Sanna whispered to Isaac, who sat closer to the pan.
"I'll hold you to that." He scooped the darkest corner onto her plate with a wink that caused Sanna's heart to skip. She wished she could come up with a pithy response, but instead she turned her attention to the food, unable to find her words.
The garlic bread was made from a local bakery's signature item, the giant Corsica loaf. It was slathered in sesame seeds and baked in olive oil so the bottom was crispy yet dripping. Mrs. Dibble had carved huge slices, coated each with garlic butter, then warmed it until the butter soaked in. The salad rounded it out, something light to balance all the heavy food so you could keep nibbling on lettuce to stretch the time at the table.
"Sanna, why don't you pull out a few bottles of cider for dinner?" Einars said.
Glad for distraction, Sanna brought out three large bottles she had in the fridge, all from the same batch- toasty brown. Not the most appetizing color, but it was the best match to go with a dinner like this one. It was a nearly still, unfiltered scrumpy style that was layered and complex, but not sweet and not dry. It wasn't acidic, so it didn't compete with the tomato sauce, and the subtle apple notes didn't confuse the palate with too many conflicting flavors. It was refreshing and smooth, a dark amber in color with bits of sediment floating around. She poured it into stemless glasses for each of the adults and enjoyed how the evening light got trapped, making the liquid glow when she held it up in a beam of evening summer sunlight.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“She spread her arms wide, past the width of the blanket, and buried her hands in the long grass, stretching her fingertips to the cool dirt. Lying like this, she fancied she could hear the orchard talking to her, telling her about the apples, and what trees should be grafted next. She drifted and envisioned the orchard from above. She could see the scraggly trees where she lay now, and the tiny twigs of the newly grafted Honeycrisp trees on the other side of the orchard, and the precise rows of the eating-apple trees- well groomed and trimmed for easy picking in the fall.
With her eyes closed, a new color spread across the back of her eyelids- a creamy white with a gentle red undertone. Her tongue started to wrap itself around the flavors as she smiled to herself. It would be dry, almost champagne-like, but with a late, sweet lilt of red apple, like a kiss on the nose. It would pair exceptionally with Parmesan, pasta, and a simple salad and it would be the perfect wedding cider, if she knew anyone getting married.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Yesterday, she had pulled out of the freezer a few special juices from the Looms that she had frozen last fall and set them in the cooler to thaw. When she had pressed them last October, they hadn't produced as much juice as the apples from younger trees, but even the raw juices by themselves were interesting and complex, layers of apple and honey and something earthier. At the time, she'd decided to save them for inspiration to strike. As she had lain in bed, though, waiting for the first rays of light, a color blossomed. A rosy pink, with a hint of coral, bold and opaque. It didn't have any sharp edges. She knew instantly it required juice from one of the Looms.
She measured and blended, noting each of the juices she used and in what combination. Two parts Rambo, one part Winesap, a half part Britegold. She sipped it, but the color was too red, almost searing. She needed something to mute it. She walked into the large freezer where she had stored some of the frozen juices and even a few bushels of frozen apples she was experimenting with.
She ran her fingers over the giant apple ice cubes in flattened Ziploc bags, closing her eyes and letting the colors emerge- green, periwinkle, sunshine yellow, and a sunset orange.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“This looks amazing, what is it?"
He was surprised when Bass answered instead of Einars.
"It's caramel apple bread pudding with a cider sauce."
Bass looked at Einars as he spoke and smiled when Einars nodded that he'd gotten it correct, Bass's pride obvious on his glowing face. See? He wouldn't have had this moment in San Jose- this was what they were here for- new experiences and new memories away from the complicated heartache. Some of Isaac's guilt eased the more Bass's smile widened.
"You helped make this?" Isaac said. He scooped up a large bite and his taste buds exploded with joy. Cinnamon apples and custardy bread pudding melded together with the creamy caramel sauce spiked with cider. It might be the perfect dessert. "Good job, Sharky."
Sanna leaned toward Bass across the table and whispered loudly, "You did a better job than my dad normally does."
She didn't smile or wink to undermine the verity of her words or dumb it down, just issued the straight compliment. Isaac's heart melted as Bass sat up taller in his chair. Maybe that wasn't the only reason Isaac's heart melted.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Isaac studied the huge, airy room and went to stand in front of a wall of watercolor apples- each one was set off by a colored background ranging from deep blue to fluorescent green to soft pink. He turned to ask Sanna about it, but she was still in the kitchen, pulling salt-crusted baked potatoes from the oven.
Bass kneeled on a bar stool and stirred sliced apples with cinnamon and sugar. On the counter were the fixings for a baked potato bar, with cheese, bacon, broccoli, sour cream, and minced chives.
"Are the apples above the fireplace meaningful?"
Einars bent lower to talk to Bass, as they layered the apples into a dish, forcing Sanna to answer the question.
"Those are all the apples we grow in our orchard."
There were at least thirty. He hadn't even known there were that many varieties of apple in the world.
"Did you paint them?"
"Some of them. Most were done by much older relatives.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“She wasn't particularly artistic, but without thought she knew the combination that would get her the color she wanted. Last night she'd arrived at a rich royal made up of layered cobalt blue and indigo, and she knew exactly what it would taste like. Dry, but not bitter, with a bold apple finish. Not shy of what it was, but proud and majestic.
Tonight the greens she sketched spoke to her of gentle whispers and a soft sweetness, with just a lilt of apple, but very refreshing.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Sanna measured the apple juice into a large glass beaker and added it to the carboy, swirling a cheery red- like Santa's suit. She wrote down the amount in her notebook and did the same with the next juice, this one a bold sapphire blue, which mixed with the red into a vivid purple. When it came to cider, colors and flavors blended together for her. She knew she had the right blend when it matched the color she had envisioned. It wasn't scientific- and it didn't happen with anything else Sanna tasted- but here, with her beloved trees, it worked. She carefully tracked the blends in her journal. The sun streamed through the window, lighting up the colors in the carboy like Christmas lights. She was close- one more juice should do it. She closed her eyes, calling to mind all the juices in the barn's cooler and their corresponding colors.
Every juice she tasted from their apples had a slightly different hue, differing among individual varieties, but even varying slightly from tree to tree. When she was twenty-four, she had stood at the tall kitchen counter tasting freshly pressed juices she had made for the first time with the press she had unearthed from the old barn. Her plan had originally been to sell them in the farm stand, but she wanted to pick the best. As she sipped each one, an unmistakable color came to mind- different for each juice- and she finally understood the watercolor apple portraits above the fireplace. They were proof she wasn't the only family member who could see the colors. After she explained it to her dad, he smiled.
"I thought you might have the gift."
"You knew about this?"
"It's family legend. My dad said Grandpa could taste colors in the apples, but no one in my lifetime has been able to, so I thought it might be myth. When you returned home after college- the way you were drawn to Idun's- I thought you might have it." He had put his hands on the side of her face. "This means something good, Sanna."
"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't I know before?"
"Would you have believed me?"
"I've had apple juice from the Rundstroms a thousand times. Why can't I see that with theirs?"
"I think it has something to do with apples from our land. We're connected to it, and it to us."
Sanna had always appreciated the sanctuary of the orchard, and this revelation bonded Sanna like another root digging into the soil, finding nourishment. She'd never leave.
After a few years of making and selling apple juice, Sanna strolled through the Looms wondering how these older trees still produced apples, even though they couldn't sell them. They didn't make for good eating or baking- Einars called them spitters. Over the years, the family had stopped paying attention to the sprawling trees since no one would buy their fruit- customers only wanted attractive, sweet produce. Other than the art above the mantel, they had lost track of what varieties they had, but with a bit of research and a lot of comparing and contrasting to the watercolors and online photos, Sanna discovered they had a treasure trove of cider-making apples- Kingston Black, Ashton Bitter, Medaille d'Or, Foxwhelp, her favorite Rambo tree, and so many more. The first Lunds had brought these trees to make cider, but had to stop during Prohibition, packing away the equipment in the back of their barn for Sanna to find so many years later.
She spent years experimenting with small batches, understanding the colors, using their existing press and carboys to ferment. Then, last year, Einars surprised her with plans to rebuild the barn, complete with huge fermentation tanks and modern mills and presses. Sanna could use her talent and passion to help move their orchard into a new phase... or so they had hoped.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“Orchard stores advertising cherries and apples, fresh baked goods, gifts appeared along the road. Some promised the best cider donuts or cherry pie, others had outdoor activities where children could burn off some energy, and yet others offered to let you pick your own cherries when the season started. As they approached a store offering a wide selection of samples, Isaac pulled into the parking lot. It seemed like a good time to stretch their legs and grab a snack at the same time.
"Let's see what we've gotten ourselves into, Barracuda," Isaac said.
He stepped onto the gravel parking lot, the rocks shifting under his flip-flops. Minivans, SUVs, and cars, many bearing out-of-state plates, filled the lot. Inside the store, freezers contained frozen cherries, apple juice from last season, and pies. Fresh baked goods lined shelves, and quippy signs hung from the walls that said things like IF I HAD KNOWN GRANDKIDS WERE SO MUCH FUN, I WOULD HAVE HAD THEM FIRST and I ENJOY A GLASS OF WINE EACH NIGHT FOR THE HEALTH BENEFITS. THE REST ARE FOR MY WITTY COMEBACKS AND FLAWLESS DANCE MOVES. Bass slid his hand into Isaac's as they walked around the store, staying close to him as they sampled pretzels with cherry-studded dips and homemade jams. A café sold freshly roasted Door County-brand coffee and cherry sodas made with Door County cherry juice.
In the bakery area, Isaac picked up a container of apple turnovers still warm from the oven- they would be a tasty breakfast in their motel room tomorrow.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider

“The stones had come from their orchard, unearthed when the first generation of Lunds began planting the orchard four generations ago. The stones varied in color and shape, from light gray limestone to rusty red granite, each highlighted by the golden light. Above the inset wooden mantel hung a huge collage of watercolor paintings, comprised of six-inch squares, each showcasing a different variety of apple grown in the orchard set against a distinguishing hue.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Simplicity of Cider