My first memories of this old cider mill are of my brother and I using it in the back yard on our farm in Todd County, Kentucky. Paul was probably a fairly fresh fourteen and I was within a few months of being eleven. The apples we collected from underneath our old tree were not very large and not extremely appealing. Most of them had defects such as bug bites, shape deformities, bruises, and such. But my, oh my, what wonderful cider they made!

I remember us taking turns turning the crank, watching the flywheel spin around, dumping apples into the hopper, seeing the blades spin around shredding the apples into little chunks. The way they bounced and spun against the cutterhead fascinated me. When the juicy bits filled the slatted, wooden bucket below, we slid it forward underneath the press.

As we cranked the presshead down into the pulp, the juice began to flow out through the slatted spaces, collecting in the wooden juice box, then dropping through its opening into the old plastic dishpan we’d set below. Seeing that slightly amber-colored fluid flowing so heavily that foam would form in the jar as we poured it from the pan mesmerized us both. And the flavor, oh, my, the flavor!

Paul dipped fresh cider into a pair of brightly colored plastic cups saved from the bags of powdered milk we mixed to feed the dairy calves. We grinned at each other, tilted back our heads, and drained those cups. And grinned some more.

The taste of freshly squeezed apple juice, called “cider” in no other culture, is wonderful. Warm, sweet with a hint of tartness, nourishing, wholesome (in moderation), delectable. It is as if rain and sunshine, the nectar of fresh flowers and the softness of gentle dew, are miraculously fused together to make Happiness in a Jar. I don’t know of anything else quite like it.

Somehow, it’s better than any of the individual apples used to make the cider. While any particular apple might have a fine flavor and texture, and certainly eating a fresh, tree-ripened apple is also a good thing, it’s just not the same as a cup of fresh cider. Smooth and simple, yet simultaneously complex and nuanced. And all the defects of all the individual apples are immediately forgotten with that first pleasing mouthful of fresh cider.

Not completely unlike when a family, congregation, community, or culture decides to accept and overlook one another’s faults and flaws, and focus on the good that draws us together. In the right occasion, a bit of personal identity sacrificed for the beauty of unity and harmony. When humans focus on the good they can accomplish together, even as flawed vessels, and do that with joyful hearts…

That must be God’s own cider.