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Ted Kooser’s “Applesauce” · The Daily Poem

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  [music]
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  SPEAKER_00: Welcome back to The Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios.
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  SPEAKER_00: I'm Sean Johnson, and today is Friday, October 16th, 2026.
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  SPEAKER_00: Today's poem is by Ted Kuser, and it's called Applesauce.
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  SPEAKER_00: I grew up in the Pacific Northwest,
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  SPEAKER_00: and I suspect that most people who grew up north of the Mason-Dixon have some kind
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  SPEAKER_00: of nostalgic association with Fall and apples.
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  SPEAKER_00: Apple picking, cider pressing, what have you.
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  SPEAKER_00: It's certainly the case for me,
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  SPEAKER_00: even though we live in a world and in a time when you can get apples year round and
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  SPEAKER_00: a surprising variety of apples even.
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  SPEAKER_00: There really is nothing like a fresh seasonal varietal apple harvest
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  SPEAKER_00: to make autumn feel so present and real.
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  SPEAKER_00: Even here in Northwest Florida, we...
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  SPEAKER_00: Make a seasonal order from a northern wholesaler who trucks loads and loads
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  SPEAKER_00: of fresh apples down this way once a year.
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  SPEAKER_00: And that time is fast approaching.
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  SPEAKER_00: And it made me think about the numerous and various and sundry things that we do
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  SPEAKER_00: with these bushels of apples that we get all at once.
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  SPEAKER_00: Though it is far from the most glamorous use we put these apples to,
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  SPEAKER_00: The one that tends to be the most pragmatic and gratifying over
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  SPEAKER_00: the long term is turning a whole load of it into applesauce.
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  SPEAKER_00: Here is Ted Kuser with a beautiful nostalgic ode to the making of applesauce.
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  SPEAKER_00: I liked how the starry blue lid of that saucepan lifted and puffed,
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  SPEAKER_00: then settled back on a thin hot pad of steam and And the way her kitchen filled with
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  SPEAKER_00: the warm,
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  SPEAKER_00: wet breath of apples,
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  SPEAKER_00: as if all the apples were talking at once,
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  SPEAKER_00: as if they'd come cold and sour from chores in the orchard and were trying
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  SPEAKER_00: to shoulder in close to the fire.
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  SPEAKER_00: She was too busy to put in her two cents worth talking to apples.
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  SPEAKER_00: Squeezing her dentures with wrinkly lips,
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  SPEAKER_00: she had to jingle and stack the bright brass coins of the lids
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  SPEAKER_00: and thoughtfully count out the red rubber rings,
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  SPEAKER_00: then hold each jar to see if it was clean to a window that looked out
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  SPEAKER_00: through her backyard into Iowa.
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  SPEAKER_00: And with every third or fourth jar,
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  SPEAKER_00: she wiped steam from her glasses using the hem of her apron,
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  SPEAKER_00: printed with tiny red sailboats that dipped along with leaf-green banners snapping
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  SPEAKER_00: under puffs or pale applesauce clouds scented with cinnamon and cloves,
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  SPEAKER_00: the only boats under sail for at least two thousand miles.
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  SPEAKER_00: This has been The Daily Poem.
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  SPEAKER_00: Thank you for listening.
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  SPEAKER_00: We'll be back next week with more poetry for you.
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  SPEAKER_00: Till then,
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  SPEAKER_00: find us at dailypoempod.substack.com to listen to past episodes of The Daily Poem,
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  SPEAKER_00: including plenty of poems about apples, autumn, and the rest.
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  SPEAKER_00: Till then, for all of us at Goldberry Studios, I'm Sean Johnson wishing you happy reading.