I don't know where that came from, but I recognize the reference. "Nuf Ced" was a saying coined by Boston bar owner Michael, (Nuf Ced), McGreevy'. He ran an establishment called the 'Third Base Saloon', because third base was "...the last stop before home...". McGreevy was a rabid fan of the Boston Americans baseball team, (now the woeful Boston Red Sox), and because the Third Base Saloon was Boston's first sports bar, fans of the crosstown Boston Braves, (now the Powerful Atlanta Braves), would often make an appearance. Sometimes arguments about the drinker's respective teams would break out, and when McGreevey thought that things were in danger of getting out of hand, he'd shout "Nuf Ced", hence the name.
McGreevy was one of those characters that define cities. He was the founder of the 'Royal Rooters', a club made up of rabid Boston Americans fans, whose theme song was "Tessie", later covered by the Punk Band "Dropkick Murphys' '. McGreevy accumulated a trove of memorabilia and ephemera over the years, and when Prohibition finally shuttered the Third Base Saloon in 1918, McGreevy donated the collection to the Boston Public Library, where it exists to this day/
One of the things most associated with Autumn are apples and apples are representative of this time of year,not just because apples and autumn began with the same letter. Some say the ubiquitous Pumpkin Lattes that are the butt of so many jokes and snarky comments, (including some made by yours truly), are more representative of the season than apples. But these are the same people who believe that the world began at the moment of their birth. Happily, most of us know better...
Fall is when families take their young children to local orchids where they can gather a bushel or a peck of the majestic fruit. Apples often find their way into children's Halloween bags and wise moms and grandmas gather them and put them aside for fall snacks and tasty baked goods. I recall one afternoon when my wife and a co-worker named Linda Frost spent an afternoon re-creating a recipe for an apple bread with a streusel topping. As I recall, the recipe was one that was in Linda's grandmother's repertoire and was, like many such recipes, not written down, and died when she did. So the ladies spent the afternoon playing cook while Ben and I took a long walk outdoors, because Autumn is the best time for walking. The quest for the classic apple bread turned out to be a resounding success. Either Diane or I would. make it several times each fall. A warm slice of the stuff, slathered with butter was a treat beyond compare. I still have a copy of the recipe, but it's in the small cabinet above my icebox, a place that I found easily accessible until I lost my feet
Apples are only a part of Autumn's particular charms. High school football games on crisp Friday evenings sometimes engage entire communities, especially in the small towns of the South and the Midwest. Many of the town's adults either played in such important games in their own salad days, or were the willowy girls who cheered them on with the grace and athleticism every bit as impressive as that exhibited by the young gladiators on the playing field. Sometimes you can pick them out because they still have their varsity jackets. Now they watch their own children and grandchildren reprising their roles from so many years ago, and they are well pleased.
Another Autumn ritual is the hayride. A trailer heaped with hay is pulled along a country lane behind an ancient tractor or, if you're lucky, a team of actual horses who provide the characteristic aroma of horse that makes the experience so memorable. The hay helps battle the October chill, and some of the bolder lads will steal a kiss from a red cheeked classmate who has manipulated the situation to that the feckless lad believes that the idea of the kiss was his all along, but the fresh-kissed lass knows better...and so do her girlfriends. . Sometimes a seasonal party would follow, and the kids would drink cider and bob for apples. Those were simpler times, and some would say that they were better times...
A historical footnote. I happen to share my surname with American Apple missionary John Chapman, better known as Johnny Appleseed. Legend depicts him as something of an eccentric who spread apple seeds hither or yon from a sack worn over his shoulder, like some biblical farmer. In fact, Chapman didn't randomly sow apple seeds: he actually established apple orchards and fenced them in before leaving those orchards in the care of local nurserymen and farmers. Sometimes he'd actually buy the land that has orchards sat on. He operated in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and Illinois, as well as the Canadian Province of Ontario. You could call him something of a conservationist, but I prefer to think of him as a simple nurseryman.
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