The 150-Year-Old Family Tradition That Keeps Me Tethered

Part of our Apple Butter yield in 2021. Below—the homeplace, Simpson’s barn, the front of the house and surrounding fields

AB 2021. The rain is no match for our set up

Nearly every October for the past 150 years, my family has gathered at our ancestral home in Virginia’s beautiful roanoke valley in the blue ridge mountains to make apple butter (if you’ve never heard of apple butter, it’s a spread kind of like a jam or jelly or applesauce.)

Apple Butter 2021

My grandfather, dad, and my dad’s seven siblings were all born in this house and for me and my cousins, I think I can speak for them, this is one of the most meaningful places on earth. We call it “The Homeplace.”

My dad and his siblings. Sadly, they have all passed. L-R back row: Francis, Christine, Cornelia, Vinson. L-R front row: Gaynelle, O.C. (my dad), Nelson and Lorene.

when my dad was a kid, The Simpsons were a big family of little means. A small apple orchard helped create income for the family. the apples they couldn’t sell, ones that had bruises or fell to the ground, they’d cook down into apple butter which after canning and storing would help see them through the winter months.

we have a letter from One of our ancestors who fought in the Civil War. he writes he sure hopes he’ll be home in time for apple butter making.

Letter from our ancestor, Elmore Martin, who fought in the Civil War

Apple Butter weekend is when we come together at the place that’s so familiar and dear to all of us. It’s where as kids, we had epic summer picnics, played in the creek and sled down the fields in winter.

My cousins J.C., Vicki, Nelson, Clayton and Susie (circa 1970)

Family picnic circa 1970. That’s me standing at the green swing

My nephew and cousins’ children playing in the creek that’s entertained countless kids for generations. This photo was taken in the late 90s

My cousin Nelson and me catching a ride down the hill on top of my brother, Gary (circa 1970)

it’s when we tell the same stories we’ve told a thousand times before and create new memories for the younger generation. It’s when we meet the latest newborns and welcome new fiancees into the fold. Below is my cousin nelson’s daughter-in-law, Jamie Harris and her son, levi. featured in the other photo is my cousin, J.c.’s daughter, Caroline Preas, and her fiancee Jesse

My cousin, Chester’s son, Daniel, and his wife, Dani. They flew all the way from their home in London for AB weekend 2021

L-R My cousin Nelson’s daughter-in-law, Brittney, my cousin Susie’s son, Jack, Nelson’s youngest son David, Susie’s daughter-in-law, Jessie, Nelson’s oldest son, John and his wife Jamie

There’s something about Apple Butter and I guess all family traditions that make me feel tethered, like I belong somewhere. like i’m part of a tribe. i always felt emboldened by my big extended family and when i was little, i thought every kid had the same. whether it was a family wedding or sadly, a funeral, i always felt immense pride when our big family would file into the church pews taking up two or three full rows.

Nelson’s sons, David and Andrew and my cousin, J.C.

Apple Butter (circa 1990)

We make about 32 gallons of Apple Butter. WE NO LONGER HAVE APPLE ORCHARDS SO WE BUY A TRUCKLOAD OF BUSHELS FROM A LOCAL AMISH FAMILY. We start the peeling and coring (you have to get rid of all the seeds) on Friday afternoon and begin cooking the APPLES over an open fire in a giant copper kettle that evening.

My nephew Jackson, cousin Nelson and cousin Ellie’s husband, Tom

My cousin Susie, her daughter-in-law, Jessie, her sister-in-law Cathy and Susie’s son & Jessie’s husband, Jack

My cousin J.C.’s son, Harry and my cousin Clayton’s daughter, Brooke

Caroline and her fiancee, Jesse, and Brittney Harris who is married to my cousin Nelson’s son, Andrew

A handful of pennies are scattered on the bottom of the pot to keep the apples from sticking. The apples must be stirred constantly with a 6ft long wooden stirrer for about 20 hours.

We have a sign up sheet for the overnight shifts and usually the younger generations handle those WEE HOURS. That’s usually when the moonshine, beer and whatever else magically appear.

My cousin Susie WIlkinson. Susie and I are the same age and were thick as thieves growing up. I adore her

Friday night AB 2021

AFTER THE APPLES HAVE BEEN COOKED ALL NIGHT, WE ADD SUGAR AND SPICES AND THEN SET UP AN ASSEMBLY LINE FOR CANNING. THERE’S ALWAYS SOME DEBATE ABOUT WHEN EXACTLY THE APPLES ARE DONE.

My sister Cindy, cousin Ellie’s husband, Tom, Cindy’s daughter-in-law, Luisa, cousin J.C.’s daughter, Caroline, Cindy’s son (Luisa’s husband and my nephew), Jackson, and the gorgeous redhead is cousin Clayton’s daughter, Brooke

My grandad was a farmer and as I mentioned, didn’t make a lot of money. The family was poor but as my Aunt Lorene said, “Everyone was poor in those days.” Dad said he remembered times when my grandmother would make just one meal per day for the family—typically a cobbler made from wild blackberries—and that would have to sustain them ’til the next day.

My grandad and Uncle Francis in the fields

My dad often recalled the time when he was a boy and asked his dad for a nickel so he could buy a candy bar. He said that his father’s eyes welled up with tears and he answered, “I’m sorry son, I just don’t have it.” Dad said he always regretted asking for that nickel. my dad’s relationship with his father was complicated and there was a lot of pain there.

My granddad, Omer Clayton Simpson. He served as a quartermaster in WWI

My dad, on the right, and his brother, Nelson

the family farm back then was big, a few hundred acres. my dad and his brother nelson when they were young, planted and cultivated a strawberry garden. they were so proud of their garden. dad told my sister, “it was the only thing on the whole farm that was ours.” one day, with no explanation, my grandfather drove his tractor over their garden destroying it. dad said, “he didn’t need the land, I don’t know why he did it.” my sister and i can’t help but wonder what happened to our grandad in his childhood.

my dad was the only one of his siblings to leave roanoke. he yearned to be part of the budding aviation industry. when he was 19, he packed up his car and moved to washington, D.C., where he took a job with twa. the day he left, his family came outside to send him off, everyone but my grandfather. i don’t think my dad ever got over that. This is dad below when he was about 19, right before he left home.

In dad’s final years, when he had some dementia, he would often talk about playing baseball when he was a teenager. if he could throw a little further, he said, the minor leagues might have been within reach. he wasn’t a good student but he excelled on the ball field, yet his dad didn’t come to even one of his games. not one. my dad talked about that, literally, into his dying days.

My dad and me at a Washington Nationals baseball game in 2010

Luisa, Jackson, Brooke and Caroline

Winding down the weekend with Saturday night football

I asked Dad once what was the best part of growing up in a big family and he said he loved that they always had enough people to form two teams. Other kids who lived out in the country would congregate at the Simpson’s because they knew there was already a gaggle of kids there. They’d play baseball or tag or kick-the-can. Then after it got dark, my Aunt Lorene said in the warm months, the kids would lay on their backs in the yard and stare up at the stars.

Some of the local kids who came to the homeplace to play. My dad is the little guy on the second row shielding his eyes from the sun (circa 1938)

My dad and his brother Nelson didn’t like school and in the winter, riding the school bus was brutally cold and uncomfortable. The bus was made out of wood (can you imagine?) and the seats had no cushioning whatsoever. Cold air streamed in through the wooden slats. Dad said he’d pile on as many shirts as he could find (there was no money for a winter coat) but he would be so cold, his hair would freeze.

Some winter nights, dad and his brother nelson were determined not to get on the school bus the next morning. If the weather was below freezing, they’d carry buckets of water from the spring and pour them on a low point in the road. Overnight, the water would turn to ice and the school bus wouldn’t be able to drive across it so it would turn around and head to school without Dad and Nelson.

My granddad in the field with his sons. L-R Nelson, granddaddy, my dad (O.C.), Francis and Vinson

One night, to amuse themselves, dad and his brothers took a pair of overalls, stuffed it with straw, attached boots, and then lay the straw man on the side of the road. They tied a string to him and then hid in the nearby field. Neighbors would drive by in horror thinking a man lay injured or dead on the side of the road. They’d slam on the breaks, turn their cars around to investigate and by then, dad and his brothers would have yanked the string and the injured or dying man was gone.

The original homeplace

My cousin, Nelson and his wife Cathy, own the homeplace today. They recently renovated the house bringing it up to modern standards but maintaining and highlighting its history and character. They chose to keep this portion of the original log cabin exposed in the kitchen. After 150+ years, the logs are still in tact and structurally sound.

The original hompeplace was a log cabin and dad said when it snowed, it wasn’t unusual to wake up with snow on the bed. My grandmother handmade stacks of quilts which kept everybody warm. I have a few of them and they are some of my greatest treasures. My grandmother made all of the girls’ dresses. I loved watching my aunts point out which fabric squares were made of dresses they used to wear.

Roanoke has always been and will always be one of my favorite places on earth. It’s beautiful, idyllic and Its given me a lifetime of glorious memories.

our aunts and uncles said the way we make apple butter today isn’t much different from how the family made it all those years before. back then, they made it out of necessity but today, we make it for the experience. apple butter’s a big, sweet tether that connects us to each other, all of those who came before us and hopefully all those yet to come.

Apple Butter weekend 2021 (photo by Chester Simpson)

I give iMMENSE GRATITUDE TO MY COUSIN, NELSON HARRIS, for keeping me honest. he IS not only our FAMILY HISTORIAN, HE’S ALSO THE FORMER MAYOR OF ROANOKE, a much respected PASTOR, COLLEGE PROFESSOR, CELEBRATED AUTHOR, AND expert HISTORIAN ON ROANOKE AND SOUTHWEST VIRGINIA. he and his wife, cathy, are the official hosts of apple butter weekend. I COULD NOT HAVE WRITTEN THIS WITHOUT nelson’s HELp, KNOWLEDGE and generosity. THANK YOU, DEAR COUSIN.

My cousin, Nelson Harris and his wife, Cathy

Luisa and Jackson. T-shirts by Brittney Harris