How far out?
Far enough to see signs like this. I mean, you might find similar ones in West Hollywood, but they'd mean something entirely different there.
So sure, it’s a bit of a trek, especially considering there’s no shortage of apple cultivars in stores at this time of year. (Fresh apples, I mean, not to be confused with apples in their properly finished state.) And not just the ever-popular Honeycrisp—sometimes you want the faint sourness of a Braeburn or the sweeter, softer tones of a Gala. Or maybe you’d prefer the tart crunch of a Jonagold or the candylike punch of a Jazz? Ambrosias, Fujis, Pink Ladies, these too all turn up pretty reliably at the supermarket every fall. But sometimes a rabbit simply wants something that’s a little more unusual, like a Mutsu or a Gravenstein or an Arkansas Black—and for those, Rob and I have to head about ninety miles inland to Oak Glen.
Or we could just hit up a farmer’s market. But what fun is that?
And so we’re off to Parrish Ranch, our first stop on the narrow mountain road that sets our course on this little sojourn. Established as the first full orchard in Oak Glen nearly 150 years ago, some of the ranch's original buildings are still in active use, with additional shops added later. First things first, though...
...let’s get something to eat at Apple Dumplin’s, housed in what was originally the ranch’s horse barn. Very home-y food—I’m kind of partial to the grilled cheese with bacon and apple slices, just because it’s almost like a ploughman’s lunch in every bite. Guess I should’ve asked for a pickle, though.
And from there, it’s a quick hop down to the store, where we can get our first look at this year’s selection. Ooh, Vasquezes! As good as Honeycrisps, if not better, and a lot harder to come by. No way I’m leaving without at least a couple of bags of those—my brothers will make a point of plowing through an entire sack before they even bother to see what else we got.
We’d linger, but with the rest of the mountain ahead of us, we’d best keep moving. So it’s off to Snow-Line Orchard at the high end of the road, where we find a bit of a surprise—the very last of the summer raspberries, still available as U-Pick. The only catch is that they’re mostly at the very bottom of the bushes—hard for a human to get to, but that’s where I come in. Don’t tell Rob I licked all of them before putting them in the basket, though.
But berries are just sort of an unexpected bonus at Snow-Line—there are two main reasons we come here, and the right-out-of-the-fryer cider doughnuts are one of them. The line for these things is usually out the door, so as you can imagine, this is about as full as I’ve ever seen the doughnut-catcher-thing. And it’s about to get half a dozen emptier.
Aw, yeah. I know I shouldn’t ask for extra cinnamon sugar because that stuff gets in the fur, but I do every time—and every time it’s worth it.
And the other reason we come here? The cider, available in regular, raspberry, and cherry. I know full well we’re getting jugs of each to take home—we brought an ice-filled cooler and everything—but I get in the sample line for a quick fix anyway.
Don’t judge me. I don’t get to drink pure sugar like this all that often.
In fact, having waited a full year since my last taste of the stuff, I get an extra pint for myself and park it outside for a few, enjoying the sunny day and a little live music. Well, partially live—our singer’s backup band is a laptop. And it’s a Toshiba. The slight irony of SoCal apple country is that the nearest Apple Store is about forty miles away.
But my break doesn’t last long, because Los Rios Rancho awaits! And good news—they’re set up for U-Pick today, although apparently all they have available at the moment are Granny Smiths.
Oh well. A pie’s a pie. Let’s get cracking!
And...wow. Holy Hesperides, I think we’ll be doing them a favor, taking a few of these apples off their hands before the weight of the branches causes a bunch of them to become windfalls. Going back to the human-rabbit teamwork thing, though, I’ll let Rob deal with these upper branches...
...and I’ll take care of the crotchfruit.
Oh, grow up. What else was I supposed to call it?
And in fact, I finish filling my bag while Rob’s still filling the larger box he picked up, so that leaves me time to debate: bake these suckers or just throw ’em in the cider press and get more sweet, sweet juice? Because they have traditional presses here, and that’s something I’ve never done. Yeah, I think I should go for it.
On second thought...pie still sounds good. Why don’t family-friendly places like this at least have kid-size versions of these things?
Then again, maybe cidermaking’s best left to the professionals. And here you can see them go at it, smashing the pulp down in a process that’s mechanized but still fairly similar to doing it manually. Although with the old-fashioned presses, the juice doesn’t splatter all over the way you see it on the windows here. Funny how it’s probably better not to know how the proverbial sausage is made even when it’s a vegan product.
So as long as we’ve got some downtime, why not explore the rest of the ranch a bit? I don’t know if this is the most sincere pumpkin patch...but I can tell you now that if that stupid beagle shows up, I’ll clobber him.
Behind-the-scenes anecdote: As we were leaving the field, some guy asked Rob, “Where’d you get the rabbit at?” Rob told him he found me in L.A., where I was looking for my break. The guy simply responded, “I want a rabbit.” Rob suggested doing what he did, which was use promises of filet mignon as bait. Then why has it been mostly tri-tip ever since, Rob? Why?
Beautiful day that it was, we also made certain to go for a nature hike, with a pause on this floating deck to really take it all in. How wonderfully picturesque. I may be an urban rabbit, but there really is something to be said for the country views out here. If they just built some condos, I could actually imagine moving out here. Condos and Apple Stores.
Then on the way back, I decided to try something really fall-traditional: a hayride. Let’s get this show on the...wait, is this a manual? Can’t drive a stick with paws. Oh well. You’re on your own, kids!
And with the sun setting, it’s a good time to get back inside anyway—not only is there a ton of stuff to peruse at the farm store, we got tickets for the monthly Los Rios jamboree. Can’t be late for that!
How many kinds of chutney do you need? I think they have all of them in stock.
Then after the regular business day is done and a temporary shutdown occurs, the Riley family—the longtime owners of Los Rios—take off their proprietor hats, put on their host and musician ones, and reopen the store with long dining tables, where ticketholders can listen to the family band perform classic country and bluegrass tunes while we enjoy a BBQ dinner. You don’t get this kind of thing very often in Pasadena, I’ll tell you that much. Bel Air, forget it. And Inglewood...
But even better is that after dinner is over and most of the crowd clears out—why, I don’t know, this is the best part—the family and their friends get together for the true jamboree portion of the evening, where they gather ’round with their guitars, fiddles, and mandolins and just jam on whatever songs people feel like playing. It’s warm, it’s intimate, and even strangers feel utterly welcome.
Of all the times for me to forget my 808 at home, too. Oh well, there’s always next month!
So our long day comes to a happy close, and the only thing left to do is to return home and decide what to do with all these apples! I could make a monster pie with the Granny Smiths and Honeycrisps alone...or do a blend of all the kinds we got...or do an apple crisp instead of a pie...or a cobbler...a dumpling...a crumble...a cake...a strudel...tarte tatin...
Funnily enough, even after a day like today, I still just kind of want to eat one of these things straight.
And that’s how a city rabbit found the true meaning of autumn: get out into the country, breathe some fresh air, eat a ton of fresh produce, and throw down at the hoedown. You know—the very same way that people have been celebrating a bountiful harvest for millennia.
I just hope those kids aren’t still out there waiting for somebody else to drive that tractor.
