CHAPTER 12
Before Daniel had a chance to respond, Gabe appeared. “Time to move it outside,” he said to the group.
“Excellent,” Mabel said.
As Gabe waded into the living room to usher everyone to the back porch, Mabel turned to Ike and Ed, rubbing her hands together. “Okay, boys, it’s time. Let’s get that cider ready.”
Unsure what was going on, Penny watched Ed empty the cider into an ornate silver serving bowl. He and Ike then carefully carried the serving bowl outside onto the back porch.
Daniel was watching as well, clearly just as curious. “Do you know why we’re heading outside?”
Penny shook her head. “This is the first time I’ve been here for the Wassail. Let’s find out.”
They followed the crowd onto the back porch, which overlooked a beautiful old apple tree strung with Christmas lights. On the snow-covered ground in front of the tree, apples were arranged to spell out “Merry Christmas!”
Penny glanced around. Most everyone was outside now. The crowd seemed excited. But for what?
Gabe and Holly made their way to the snow-covered ground in front of the tree, followed by Mabel, Ike, and Ed.
“Everyone,” Gabe announced, his voice carrying over the crowd, “Merry Christmas and welcome to Northland Orchard!” The crowd let out a big cheer. “Thank you for joining us tonight. All of us here —Holly and I, along with Mabel and Ike and Ed, and of course little Joshua, who’s enjoying a sleigh ride with his grandparents right now — are grateful you’ve joined us for our fifth annual Wassail holiday event.”
After more cheering, Gabe continued. “Those of you who have been here before may recall that the Wassail is an English tradition dating back centuries, and that its name is derived from the Old English phrase ‘waes hael,’ or ‘be well.’ Back in the 1800s, my English ancestors owned orchards south of London and held Wassails of their own, gathering with friends and neighbors at the end of the growing season to celebrate the harvest.”
Gabe paused. “Tonight’s Wassail is exactly that — a celebration of community during the holiday season and a way for all of us at Northland Orchard to thank all of you in Heartsprings Valley for your friendship and support.
“There’s a wassailing poem I’d like to recite in front of this beautiful apple tree, which we believe to be the oldest on the farm. I like to imagine my ancestors, two centuries ago, doing something similar back in merry old England.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and recited, his voice full of energy:
Apple tree, apple tree, we all come to wassail thee,
Bear this year and next year to bloom and to blow,
Hat fulls, cap fulls, three cornered sack fills,
Hip, Hip, Hip, hurrah!
Holler biys, holler hurrah!
The crowd, caught up in the moment, joined Gabe in the final heartyhurrah, then burst into applause.
“If I could ask Mayor Winters to join us up here, it’s time for an extremely important part of the Wassail tradition: singing! My ancestors believed apple trees enjoy music as much as we humans do, and that listening to songs makes them happy and productive. I have no idea if that’s true, but hey, if music means Northland Orchard produces more apples, I say, bring on the Christmas carols!”
Gabe turned to the mayor, a fellow in his sixties who looked like Santa’s younger, trimmer brother. “So what do you say, Mr. Mayor?”
The mayor launched into a spirited rendition of “Deck the Halls.” Within seconds, everyone was joining in. As the familiar words rose up into the night sky, Ed passed the ornate silver bowl filled with cider to Gabe, and Gabe carefully poured the cider over the big tree’s roots.
Daniel leaned over and whispered in Penny’s ear, “What’s the deal with the cider?”
“No clue,” Penny whispered back.
“It’s part of the tradition,” came a voice next to her.
Penny turned around, startled, and found that Mabel had joined them.
“Gabe’s ancestors believed that pouring cider over the roots of the trees, like the singing, made the trees happy and encouraged their productivity.”
“Pouring cider over the tree roots makes the trees … healthier?” Daniel asked. “Does that work?”
Mabel shrugged. “Well, it doesn’tnotwork. We just had our best year.”
