45-day trial to cook with our cast iron
 

The best things are built to last. That usually means simplicity and honest materials that can be repaired and wear or degrade gracefully over long periods of time. This has been true for objects like our grandmother’s Wagner Ware cast iron skillets–and it’s also true of our Uncle Peder’s old-school mechanical apple press.

But it’s never just about the thing—the skillet or the apple press. It’s about the associations, memories, and history we develop with them. Seemingly simple, inanimate objects take on a life of their own. Repeated use and care of such tools turns them into something more—they become extensions of ourselves and things we love.

At Field Company, we aspire to make products that can become those special things for people. But the universe is bigger than cast iron and bigger than us—and we’re going to shine a light on more people and their treasured objects.

We thought we’d start with one of our own: the story of our uncle Peder Field’s apple press.

SM and CM in action.

But it’s never just about the thing—the skillet or the apple press. It’s about the associations, memories, and history we develop with them.

One Stack Farm

Our Uncle Peder and Aunt Faith ran a small apple farm in Stow, MA called One Stack Farm. Every October, we’d gather with friends and family to help clean out the last of his apples for cider pressing. It was the definition of lo-fi —old wood bushel boxes, barn cats on the prowl, and a few gorgeous, antique cider presses on the street. Once we’d cleared out the orchards of all the drops, we’d split into teams for tag football, drive the tractor around, and share a potluck meal.

This tradition, called the Apple Corps, started around 1980 and continued for decades until Uncle Peder stepped down in his 80s. Part of the beauty of it was that little changed over the years except for a health department-mandated white room and a machine for chumming apples. But the presses, with their well-worn wood and smell of grease that hit a perfect note with the fresh apple juice strained through cheese cloth, were a constant.

Uncle Peder had his own way with customers—a bit gruff and to the point—which we came to understand was on several counts: it wasn’t exactly a commercial operation, he was really making cider for himself and the joy of it. It wasn’t until we were teenagers that we realized he liked to keep as much as possible to turn into hard cider and mix with bourbon through the winter months.

The fresh cider ruined us on commercially available cider. When you press cider yourself it’s a living beverage somewhat similar to kombucha. It has some funk and some depth of flavor and is a world apart from heavily pasteurized and strained apple cider that you’d find in a grocery store.

The Tradition Lives On

The press has at least a half century of use imparted into it, the oak wood deeply saturated with years of pressing. It’s an amazing piece of machinery, simple and handsome. It works with a powerful ratchet mechanism. All the parts were either turned with an old school lathe or forged by hand, giving them a sense of liveliness and character that a piece of industrially stamped metal would find hard to muster. It’s a satisfying tool to operate.

 

Owning this press is an opportunity to keep that tradition alive for myself and our family. A living beverage that comes from Autumn’s abundance.

My daughters use this press now, their hands where Uncle Peder's used to be. That's what makes it worth keeping—it's still teaching them, still making cider, still doing what it was made to do.

It's a family affair.