CIDER REVOLUTION

21 October -- Crystie Kisler was still in her PJs when we arrived (admittedly early) at Finnriver Cidery, to drop off our wild apples. In truth, Susan and I had been hurried that morning too, pulling over on Washington’s Route 104 at the last minute to pick the small feral apples that grow along the roadside: scrabbling up and down mud-slicked embankments, peeling away brambles that clung to our legs like whiney toddlers. With our bounty overflowing Susan’s colorful Zulu baskets came the promise of a free bottle of hooch made from this harvest of apples gleaned throughout Jefferson County; dropped off by us and others who were unpredictably eager to taste apple wine and hard cider in the early Sunday hours.

Too early. Crystie fluttered back and forth like a nervous sparrow, putting out flyers and snacks between pours of cider. At one point a gangly bed-headed boy walked in with a delivery of serving trays: Crystie’s eldest son, River. On completing his chores he asked for a piece of the chocolate Crystie was putting out. ‘After you bring me my wool skirt,’ she replied, and continued to set up the tasting room, doling out sips of elegant and rustic ciders. When he returned with the skirt, she immodestly pulled it on over her leggings; a swing of wool beneath the heavy sweater that hung rather limply on her twiggy frame. (Littlest son Coulter – about 4 – milled around silently in a large tri-cornered pirate hat and shimmery coat.)

Today, on World Apple Day, Finnriver Cidery was collecting natural heirloom apples (those not bio-engineered or bred for sweet-toothed American tastes) to create a ‘Backyard Blend’ of hard cider. Apple donors will get a share commensurate with their tonnage (or poundage, as is more accurate) and the balance of proceeds will go to support the local food bank.

Finnriver is cultivating more than just apples and berries on their 33-acre farm: a strong sense of community exists on the compound (I want to call it a commune) reached by a windy dirt road in Chimacum, past clever signs asking, in rhyme, for visitors to drive slowly, keep the dust down, and mind kids and critters.

There is a wind turbine (we don’t see) and several small houses and even smaller (frightfully so, for a claustrophobic like me) cabins that house workers and interns, set off from the large pavilion, where random chairs and bales of hay provide community seating around a generous oven suitable for firing pizzas and breads, and to take the chill off the numbing cold of the Pacific Northwest.

As she pours, a tangle of hair jutting out from beneath her wool beanie, Crystie tells us, “We think the more complex apples will make a more complex cider.” Small or large; the size doesn’t matter, “it’s the tannins and character we’re after.” Most Americans prefer sweet apples, but these don’t make the best cider she says. Referring often to ‘old world’ taste, she serves up hearty sips of ciders that are tart, clean, mineral.

While Crystie describes each sample, more donors arrive with apples: from Dungeness, and Port Angeles. One of the patrons offers to go out and help a newly arrived woman, Ellen, lug her boxes of apples to the bin.

“We are just three years into this,” Crystie explains, “’Let’s try this. Let’s try that.’ Sometimes it’s dangerous.” One such case could be the fir infused botanical cider. She calls it a ‘culinary adventure’ – I liken it to a fizzy Christmas tree. But the small company is unrestrained by corporate dictates, so there is indeed a new-world sense of exploration – even euphoria – in their endeavors. Open-mindedly they experiment, bound along the way to hit some snags, but presumably more successes.

Other samplings:

Artisan Sparkling Cider: won a double gold in the 2011 Seattle Wine Awards. “We thought they didn’t realize it was from apples,” she exclaims. It’s fermented with champagne yeast, crisp, dry, sophisticated, with a neat finish.

Farmstead Sparkling Cider: she prefaces with a ‘warning’. Aged on the lees, it’s much more rustic than the earlier sample. Earthy, mineral, with a hint of citrus or lemongrass.

Sparkling Pear Cider: notable perfume and a hint of sweetness – a blend of organic apples and pears. Delicious.

Dry Hopped Sparkling Cider: attempt to ‘address the plethora of beer drinkers’ in the Jefferson County market, she explains, “It’s like drinking a meadow.”  I found it tart and soapy: perhaps beer is something best left to the breweries.

Sparkling Black Currant Cider: Susan liked this one, but it reminded me too much of cough syrup I took as a child. Still, I could see it with holiday toasts, or game dinners. Rabbit, venison, boar (If anyone knows where to shop for boar these days …)

Seasonal Botanical Ciders: with their Wells Fargo Wagon elixir type labels. Lavender, Fir, Cranberry, Rhubarb. Novelty ciders in small releases. (Thankfully - in the case of the fir ... )

Apple & Pear Sweet Wines: “The sexy, sophisticated side of the apple” Crystie says. Cider fortified with brandy, intense fruit flavors. I want to shove the wine aside and indulge on the rich, heady brandy.

Fruit Brandy Wines: I try the blueberry. It’s absolutely delicious and intense, without being cloying. It slides down easily, and at 18.5% alcohol content, is welcomingly warming on a frisky day.

Crystie refers to a 9/15/2012 article in the WSJ on the cider renaissance, calling it ‘historical’ and part of the ‘locavore movement.’ So over the next week we go on to explore every winery and cidery we can find, within an hours perimeter – with much success and mirth. But that report (and the image upload) will have to wait for another time …