Once upon a time community was something you lived inside of, with knowable parameters, filled with people you depended upon. But for all the reasons that has drastically changed - from the shrinking of rural communities where interdependence was assured to the rise of the internet and its control over all aspects of social life - there are still times it is wise to ask what we stand to lose when we interact less, if at all, with the people we live alongside. As we gather in ever larger communities online, making allegiances with people we’ve never met, based on what we assume are shared opinions, are we building towards something that has the capacity to nourish, protect, expand the lives we are living in real time? The recent Kinkade fire brought home the importance of knowing, really knowing, the character and quality of community. It was a potent reminder that this other world where we increasingly spend time takes place in a space that has no actual contours, no weather.
So it was on a bright, pumpkin and canary yellow Mendocino morning, eight of us stood milling around the packing shed at The Philo Apple Farm where it sits adjacent to the bridge as it crosses the Navarro River. We were waiting for Pete to arrive from Cloverdale with a mysterious part for the apple crusher, which was having a senior moment. The crusher is a very old contraption of great ingenuity and beauty, with interconnecting parts of worn wood and scratched steel, black gears, troughs attached to rickety steel and wood conveyor belts, and, as befits its age, an irascible temperament.
The part arrives, the engine groans to life, everyone takes their places. Isabel and Dan stand on a patch of beaten down dirt adjacent to Greenwood Road, filling buckets of apples from a bin we picked a few weeks ago, which Tim just fork lifted over. They unload the buckets onto a flat conveyor belt that moves through a washing garage from which the apples emerge glistening wet, trundling their way onto another conveyor belt that heads upwards, like a roller coaster groaning in the first ascent. Jerzy stands on a stool holding a worn wooden baton over the mouth of the crusher which he brings down, decisively, just so, clearing the passage when the apples get wedged.
Once pulped, the mash shoots through clear plastic tubes up to the platform of the packing shed, where the juicer, another mechanical dowager queen, sits waiting. It is here that Rita and Mark, in long yellow aprons and white boots, fill and stack ring molds lined with linen, building wobbling towers they slide beneath the press. Rita adjusts the balance to avoid too much tilt, the motor strains, the full weight lowers, and juice begins to flow from every layer, clear rivulets that foam as they fill the gutters of the trough.
That first jar is the culmination of months that began with bud break in the spring. The air is redolent with an earthy spice of apples, wet wood, fermenting cider. Weaving through all this fruit in transformation is the scent of a savory stew Cruz is making for lunch, which we will all soon sit down to, together.
Two weeks after we crushed and pressed our apples we evacuated Healdsburg. By fortuitous if not ironic timing, no sooner had we unpacked the cars than Isabel and I headed further up Greenwood Ridge to a fundraiser for a new firetruck for Philo. The winds were picking up and the fires were gaining down below us in Alexander Valley, but there was nothing we could do but wait it out. We were relieved, and in an odd way gratified, to have an opportunity to raise money for something our other community dearly needed. We ate BBQ, drank great local wines, and bid on the same homemade cakes more than once - anything to add to the amount Anne Fashauer and Ole Erickson’s GoFundMe Campaign had already raised. I have no idea if anyone we met that day was like-minded when it came to politics, whether we enjoy the same books and movies, worship in the same way. I know only that the cause was one we share, the day was beautiful, and we were all just glad to be where we were, together.
With modern equipment housed in an enclosed facility it would not take eight people to crush a few bins of apples. Piece by piece however, the things we bring into our lives shape who we become, and crucial to that is how we spend our time in that becoming, which really never ends. In choosing a definition of community that is intrinsically connected and reflective of a particular landscape, with a deep appreciation and respect for what it produces, we create durable social networks that can take us through the hard times and are capable of bestowing upon us great joy. And there is an added bonus: it allows us to hold tight to the things we wish to carry with us into the future.
If you’ve never stayed at the Philo Apple Farm you are missing one of California life’s great treats. It’s a working farm of many gorgeous pieces - gardens, orchards, guest cottages, a potting shed (above) where you can host delightful, delicious dinner parties. Sublime breakfasts are included with your stay.
