It’s 2:15 in the afternoon, and Herman Erzfeld is stirring apple butter in an iron kettle over a wood fire outside St. Joseph Church in Apple Creek, Missouri. He’s been stirring since 6:45 that morning, and he still has approximately 15 minutes to go before the water has evaporated from the apple butter and it’s thick enough to take off the fire.
“We trade off for lunch and a coffee break every once in a while,” Erzfeld says of the stirring. It gets tiring, he says, but he enjoys helping the church, and at 83 years old, “What else is there?”
There is a group of approximately a dozen men and a dozen women assembled to make the apple butter on this afternoon; most of them — if not all — are lifetime members of the parish, which is the southernmost parish in the Archdiocese of St. Louis. The church was founded in 1828 by German immigrants from the region of Baden, Germany; some of the older members of the parish grew up speaking German and can still understand it.
Shirley Buchheit comes over and scoops a spatula full of apple butter from the kettle, tapping it onto an aluminum pie plate she holds perpendicular to the ground. The apple butter runs down the plate a bit; she says that means it still has water in it and needs to cook longer.
The group uses four kettles to cook the apple butter in; each of the kettles belong to a different parishioner. Erzfeld says some of the kettles were used by the parishioners’ grandparents; Buchheit says the kettle she contributes to the event each year was her father’s.
The parishioners have been making apple butter for approximately 20 to 25 years, Buchheit estimates. They began making it as a fundraiser for the church; they sell it at each of the breakfasts and dinners the church puts on, as well as at their annual picnic each Labor Day weekend. They also serve it at church breakfasts. The wood for the fires under each kettle comes from East Perry Lumber Company in Frohna, Missouri.
Although they used to make the apple butter from whole apples, the parishioners now use applesauce since there are no orchards in the area. They use 108 gallons of applesauce, and as such, Buchheit has been at the church since 5:45 a.m. opening jars of it.
Buchheit has been making apple butter for most of her life; she learned how to make it from her parents while she was growing up.
“It’s work, but it’s nice to have the people here,” she says.
Since the parishioners get together to make apple butter only one time each year, they make enough of it to last the church throughout the entire year. They make approximately 300 jars in various sizes, including pints, quarts and half gallons. With this amount of ingredients, it takes 25 pounds of sugar to sweeten it to perfection. The sugar, Buchheit says, also helps the apple butter thicken.
When the applesauce turns from yellow to a darker red, it is ready for the cinnamon and sugar to be added, Buchheit says. The parishioners don’t use a recipe; instead, they do it by taste. All together, the apple butter must be cooked for eight to nine hours, constantly stirred so it doesn’t scorch. They stir it with a cherry, walnut or oak wooden stick so it doesn’t get resin in it.
Once the apple butter is taken off the fire, the men who stir it outside take it inside the church hall so the women are able to can it. The women make quick work of the job, working together to pour it into jars, put the lids on and process it in boiling water for three to five minutes. Then, they set it on a countertop to cool.
Toni Ponder jokes she doesn’t enjoy making apple butter. She also says she “doesn’t care for” eating it, either. More seriously, though, she says it is the people who make the activity worthwhile.
“I can’t say I don’t enjoy it. I like to be with the people to help out,” she says. “We get together and do all that, listen to one another, tell jokes and things. That’s fun. That makes it fun. To be with people.”
Enjoying the community of people making apple butter is a general theme echoed by many of the people at the event. It’s a way for them to carry on the tradition of their church, as well as their families’ heritages.
“It goes back to your grandparents and parents. You know, somebody’s got to keep it going,” Erzfeld says as he stirs. “And I enjoy it, just sitting here. Group of people, get out and visit, might as well sit. It’s a [beautiful day], you betcha.”
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