Bakeapple Season

  • Downhome Magazine
  • Posted: Aug 04, 2016 1:17 PM
Bakeapples cover the ground in Labrador (Theodore Davis photo)

It's a quarter to eight
And Stan's at the gate
Doris declared an excursion
Beef buckets and boots
We're three in cahoots
And off on a bakeapple mission.

No red ones, no white ones
You must pick the ripe ones!
Our orders are perfectly clear
We jump in the car
Sally’s Cove isn’t far
And it’s just the right time of the year.

Doused up with dope
Laced with lashings of hope
Over barren and bog land we search
With a lunch in our pack
There’s no turning back
Five gallons or we’re in the lurch.

We’re having a lark
Defying the park
Whose rules forbid berrying tours,
As we pluck the gold fruit
We all cock a snook
“I’ve covered my bottom, how’s yours?”

In Fred’s footsteps we follow
O’er hummock and hollow
Our fingers grow sticky and sweet 
The geese they are flying
Our backs naught but crying
“Let’s stop and have something to eat.”

Slower and slower 
Backs bending lower
Our buckets we fill to the brim
The sun blazes stark
The flies find their mark
“Three gallons will do, let’s go in!”

Back home at the harbour
In Doris’s larder
We empty our harvest with glee
Expectantly waiting
We’re hoping and staking
On bakeapple cheesecake for tea. - Submitted by Helen Pittman of Rocky Harbour, NL