The edits for my new book have landed on my desk. Now I know what to do in my spare time. But first, as winter solstice approaches, it’s time to slice the special apples mellowing in my fridge. The Virginia crabapples from my harvest have turned into an aromatic treat. Maine’s gorgeous Black Oxfords have shed their denseness and turned surprisingly ethereal.

There’s nothing more delicious than circling back to apples and their lore to counter holiday busyness. We once knew which apples are cooking apples, and which are eating or drinking apples. I write in The Light Between Apple Trees: "Who knows anymore that the antique New Yorker, the Golden Russet (seedling of the English Russet), is the champagne of cider apples or that the relatively modern Winecrisp is excellent for pickling?" (Thanks to the Center for Biological Diversity for picking the book as one of their “reading gems”)

If you’ve seen the Harry Potter films, you’ve seen England’s Blenheim Palace where the connoisseur’s baking apple, the Blenheim Orange, was first grown. If all you have on hand are mystery apples, however, as I did one fall morning when a nursery owner urged me to pick from her 30-year-old mystery apple trees, you could still dream of a sublime apple strudel for the holidays.

I sampled the apple-walnut strudel at Dolina to perfect mine. After researching a treasure trove of historic varieties such as the Ribston Pippin and the Black Oxford, which pairs nicely with cheese, I have accrued insights about winning combinations.

Lastly, I have been rereading Penelope Fitzgerald, an acknowledged master of compression. Among her books, The Blue Flower burns brightest. In which she considers the brief, blazing life of the German Romantic poet Novalis (1772-1801).

“What springs up all at once so sweetly boding in my heart, and stills the soft air of sadness?” — Novalis, Hymns to the Night