apple prep, and habit layering

This post is kind-of about canning applesauce, but it's really about how amazing it is to learn, practice, and then (almost) take for granted those new skills.   I described this to some friends as "layering habits" -- we can make pretty big changes in our lives by making small changes, adapting to those, then making more changes, adapting to those, etc.  (Actually, on reflection, maybe this is more about layering skills or routines than habits . . . ??? . . . eh, I'll stick with my original term for now).

Here's the most recent "habit layer".  For a couple of years now, my running buddy has picked up apples from a local farmer for me.  She does this while she's already in the car (she's a pediatric therapist, so her job involves a lot of driving around to visit kids), and she picks up apples when she's driving by this particular farmer anyway.  So, score for inexpensive, locally grown food and for efficient use of both our time, not to mention using our social capital well.  The new layer this year:  I gave her sturdy shopping bags to throw in her car, so I didn't get a new pair of giant plastic bags.  Bonus: the shopping bags were easier for her to carry than the "disposable" plastic bags would have been!

my apples in giant reusable shopping bags 
(bags courtesy of my step-daughters, who shop)

It's not like having two fewer plastic bags in the world is a huge environmental win; but that's kind of my point.  Going even more trash-less than before is not hard to do, because I've already got the underlying friend-gets-apples-from-farmer structure in place.  

This whole layering-habits concept struck me rather forcibly the other day as I was in the midst of canning all these apples.  One moment I was chopping up apples, feeling that comfortable groove of a familiar routine, and the next moment I looked around and realized that the "familiar routine" had been a completely alien experience for me two decades ago.  How did I get from there to here?  

Just look at all the stuff on the table where I was chopping apples: it's a collage of how much I'd experimented and adapted over the years.  For example, the cutting board and knife in the picture below seem pretty self-explanatory, but I'd tried all sorts of methods for chopping apples, including an incredibly amusing peeler/corer machine that makes apple swirls (almost like an apple slinky).  

My apple prep area, with many prep-py things all around

Also on the table:  

• the scraps get shunted off to a flat sheet, which collects them until the sheet's full, at which point I pick up the sheet and funnel the scraps into a big glass jar, which I use for creating vinegar. 
• a bunch of instant pot liners, because I've found that steaming the apple slices for 1 minute works really well for prepping them, and instant pots don't need babysitting or stirring like apples on the stove do.  
• boxes of jars, and boxes of lids, and a coat-hanger full of rings, ready to be put to use.  

Speaking of instant pots, for Applesauce Day I set up three of them in various different places in the house.  (If they're all together, they'll trip a circuit breaker).  I don't use the stove itself for canning anymore!  I do use the oven for keeping extra jars warm and for (bonus!) simultaneously keeping the jars out of the way, off of precious counter space.

The instant pot steams the apples;
a tray of jars is ready go into the 200-degree oven 

And here's another of my new best friends: the electric water bath canner.  It holds only 7 quarts---4 fewer than my former stove-top canner, but it makes up for its smaller size by being super, super easy to use.  

The electric water bath canner sits next to the sink,
where our coffee pot and water kettle normally go.

And another of my favorite tricks I've picked up and folded into the routine: using a trunk on wheels as a makeshift cart to ferry the processed jars from the kitchen to the table where they'll sit and cool.

Finished jars enjoying their choo-choo ride
to the large table in our living room

All this canning seemed to take a long time . . . but when I got to the end, I realized it's less than 10 minutes per quart of applesauce.  That's a decent time investment, I figure -- especially when, in the depths of winter, a friend gets into a rough spot and I can bring over a quart of applesauce I made myself.  That's priceless.   Figuring out that last little bit -- that a jar of applesauce is a welcome and much-appreciated way to connect with others -- is probably the loveliest layer of these habit/routines/traditions that I've built up.