My dreams of growing fruit began as a teenager when I discovered my great-grandfather’s wine press in the basement of my aunt’s house in Boston. Nearly all of the wood was rotted away, but the enormous metal screw and press plate were still intact. Forest green glass bottles and mice-chewed corks sat collecting dust on the floor. It was one of the coolest things I’d ever seen.
Even though I never met him, the picture of my fresh-off-the-boat Italian immigrant great-grandfather pressing wine from grapes he grew in his small backyard is forever cemented in my mind. My mother recalls visiting “Nonno” in the summer and sneaking a few ripe grapes when he wasn’t looking. These are the images and memories that inspired me to start growing my own fruit. The only difference is that I’ve chosen apples over grapes.
