This cider was made in 2021 as part of the research carried out in writing 'A Vagrant's Pomona'. It is made entirely from fruit removed without the owner's permission and may or may not taste better for it.

Orchard 1
17-8-21 & 18-8-21, 1610-1750 light cloud, gentle breeze, 18°C.

This is familiar territory. I’ve been removing part of the harvest from this orchard for a number of years, I won’t say how many. I appreciate this is early in the season, but that’s the reason I’m here – earlies. This orchard consists of about forty standard trees of approximately seventy years of age and appears to have only three varieties: discovery, cat’s head and a small bitter sweet I’ve yet to identify but is absolutely loaded with tannin.
It’s probably a little too early, with the seeds a little on the pale side, but I’m keen to make a strike and thought this place would be a good start – can’t think of another orchard in the SW with this number of discoveries.
I turned up yesterday at about lunchtime with all the
kit, in the knowledge that a conspirator had visited the orchard the previous week and said the fruit was good to go. In all the time I’ve been visiting this orchard, I’ve never seen anyone working it. There’s been evidence of some activity in the past, strimming of some of the vegetation, removal of dead trees etc, but next to nothing in the way of pruning and the fruit usually rots on the ground (what’s left). However. When I arrive, I get all the stuff together and to be honest, it’s the camera and tripod which feel really cumbersome, like I could do with another arm to feel comfortable, nevertheless, I am making my way from the place I’ve parked with all this clobber and as I approach, the gate is open. I miss a small beat and hesitantly peer around the corner to see a posh-looking 4x4 range rover type thing reversed about 50m up the track. Shit.
Unbelievable. I’m pretty certain no one has spotted me with all this weird gear, obviously intent on robbing them, and quietly back track to the car to make escape. Given the frequency of not seeing anyone working this orchard, it feels likely to me that the chances of what could have been the owner in attendance two days running is quite unlikely, so resolve to take another go the following day. When I arrive, I’m already feeling a bit strung out: this summer has been particularly trying in terms of the sheer volume of extra people in the county. The roads are jammed and work has taken me to Newton Abbot, Tedburn, Okehampton and Saltash before heading home, so it’s reasonably late by the time I arrive. A quick drive by shows the gate closed and apparently no one there. Hurrah. I park up and gather up the clobber again.
In fairness it’s a lovely still evening: soft, slightly close late summer with the scent of honeysuckle still strong in the air. A yaffle shrieks his displeased departure as I make my way into the orchard, my greedy sights set on big, lurid discovery. There is also the dusty smell of barley harvest on the air and the somewhat distant drone of the tractors carting is a background constant. In any case, I’m in and ready to get on with it. Feels peaceful, feels deserted and I relax a bit. I set the camera up and get a few shots to prove positive whilst picking the first bag and once it’s full I pack up the camera and move it all back to the car – it all feels like too much stuff, I’ve certainly never documented the act previously and it’s awkward, out of place. Empty the first bag, leave the camera and back to it, this time with the black bag. Feel lighter, more capable again. I hit the discovery pretty quickly and top up with cats head. The discovery has loads of sugar and really nice summery aromatics but no tannin and little acidity (this is where the cats head fills the gap but is very much in support only). The solo however, will be performed by these brilliant little bittersweets – no acidity whatsoever, but face-foldingly tannic (when sliced they brown in minutes). They are really bloody small though, about the size of a walnut and consequently take an age to pick even though the trees are loaded this year. Just as I’ve set about these in earnest I hear a car go past the entrance slowly, pause and then pull in behind where I’m parked. Engine stops. Small panic. I’m pretty close to the boundary hedge at this point and as I’m in the light, can’t tell if I’ve been spotted. As I said, I know this plot well and there’s a footpath which runs from the back and out. I keep low and to the shade as much as possible, but the nettle and dogs mercury is thick and progress is louder than I’d like as I make a retreat to the back of the orchard. Once at a safe distance I can lurk behind a row of elms and peering like a stoat at the entrance gate about 100m distant, I wait and breathe and listen and wait and breathe but no one appears. Ok. I wait about another five minutes – long enough that I start to see the small birds reappear down by the gate and figure there’s no one there. But. There’s still a chance that they’re sat in the car waiting for me to appear laden with their produce, so I make my way back down and stash the bag and picker in the hedge, making as though I’m just walking the path. Back to the car and whoever the other driver was, they’re not in their car and not in obvious attendance. Relief. Back for the bag and pole. I empty the bags into a net in the car and as I’m now feeling unobserved and probably over confident, I go back for more discos and walnut bittersweets. Broke my own rule. First time out. Probably was always going to. Covered in dogs mercury seeds. Driving home feeling elated that the first strike of the year made and when I get in no one’s home so bacon and eggs for dinner.