From The Mountain
Mark J. Tidwell
It started back in late summer. Wife Yvonne and I peeled, sliced, and placed out in the hot July and August sun, bucket after bucket of apples. The sweet, juicy slices baked under the sweltering star until they were completely dehydrated, shriveling and crinkling up into chip-like vestiges of their former selves. After the drying process was deemed finished, we placed them into freezer bags for storage.
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