“You either grow apples or you make cider. We decided to make cider.” The inevitable outcome for two people enthralled with apples. Kanin and Tierney Routson, husband-and-wife owners of Stoic Cider, are self-described apple nerds. “My dad likes to joke that he still can’t believe I found someone in life who likes apples more than I do,” Tierney says.
The fruit caught Kanin’s eye as a child. Growing up on an old homestead property in Williamson Valley, he and his brother knew the location of all the old apple trees. One day, when Kanin and his brother were young, graduate students were assigned to research historic orchards. “Just the fact that we were kids and they were graduate students and they were looking for these trees that we valued … That was pretty inspirational,” says Kanin.
Spend five minutes talking to the Routsons about apples and their appeal becomes evident. The fruit is considered an extreme heterozygote, meaning there is a high degree of genetic diversity within the species. Much like humans, seeds from apple trees do not produce an exact replica of their parent.
It sounds like science fiction, but the apples you see in a store came not from seeds but from clones. Using a process called grafting, a piece of the desired tree is attached to rootstock from another tree, thereby ensuring the new tree will produce the exact same fruit as its parent.
Large-scale, commercial agriculture is dependent on “same.” Cloning is necessary. You need all of the trees to produce the same thing at the same time. “As a business, it doesn’t make financial sense to have a three-month-long harvest season,” Tierney says. This is because the best cider usually depends on blending a variety of apples. Variety has its own rhythm.
“A good cider apple has things like tannin and polyphenols and high sugar and pressability. There’s a lot of crossover from the winemaking world, where you want the perfect balance of tannin, acidity, and sweetness. Not that many apple varieties—especially modern ones—have those characteristics all in the same apple. The Harrison is one of the few,” Kanin says.
As part of research for his master’s degree, Kanin went on a collection expedition in the Southwest. That research involved “fingerprinting” trees located on old homesteading properties and then comparing them to those of known apple species. At the time, genetic testing of tree species was rudimentary. “There was a variety that I couldn’t identify, and we called it Chase 22. It came from a giant tree with beautiful golden apples on an old ranch over in New Mexico.”
A few years ago, the Routsons sent samples of their Chase 22 tree for a more advanced genetic work-up in hopes of learning a name or identifying its parentage. The results: The tree in New Mexico was a genetic match to the first confirmed Harrison tree. “It means we have this super neat old heirloom variety. Now, we have five or six of them on the farm,” Kanin says. “We’re the folks responsible for the clones of that tree, but there is now an abundance of Harrison trees planted and available thanks to the work of many dedicated apple researchers,” Tierney adds.
When asked how you find old apple trees, Kanin replies, “Just ask people.” He briefly alludes to experiences involving “no trespassing” signs and shotguns, and also conveys how people would lighten up, soften, and enthusiastically relay a tree’s story. He’s not alone in the experience. “There were times I’d be pouring cider at a tasting event and someone would start telling me that the best apple they ever tasted was when they were growing up,” Tierney says.
Both Kanin and Tierney are full-time biologists who conduct field research. It’s no surprise they amassed a collection of apple trees. “It got to a point where we really had to ask ourselves, ‘What are we doing here? Why?’ Cider seemed like a great idea because we could highlight the differences between the apples and do cool things with our collection,” Tierney says.
With all those trees [somewhere between 1,000–1,500 of approximately 300 different varieties], you might assume Stoic’s ciders are produced exclusively from their own fruit, which is not the case. Williamson Valley isn’t fruit-friendly. Higher elevation means increased potential for late frosts, which easily damage or destroy blossoms. On top of that, it takes 15–20 pounds of fruit to make a gallon of juice.
“Growing all of our own apples to make cider isn’t the goal. The wonderful part of having this company is that we get to pay people as much as they need in order to grow interesting apples. That’s something we’re excited about and is important to us,” Tierney says.
With the exception of their Malus Perfecta cider, apples are sourced from two different multi-generational farms—one in Fruitland, Idaho, and the other in Hood River, Oregon. The cider is made possible with the assistance of Ryal Schallenberger, the owner of Northwest Mobile Juicing. Schallenberger brings his press to the growers, allowing them to reduce costs and maximize yield.
The apples are pressed where they are grown, and then the juice is frozen and stored. “Without a freezer, we would have to buy all of our apples or grow all of our apples, press them, and then make cider in the fall and sell it throughout the year. We just don’t have that space,” Kanin says. “Essentially, freezing the juice allows us to have a tiny [300-square-foot] facility and still have a business.”
“We could probably sell more than we do right now, but we have a human resources issue. It’s just Tierney and I right now, and to sell more cider, it takes Tierney going out and distributing that cider and me making that cider, and we’ve reached our maximum capacity,” says Kanin. “We are the size we are right now because our production half and everything else half is pretty balanced, and the space we have at the farm is limited,” adds Tierney.
Balance does not mean status quo. Stoic recently rebranded, Tierney says, “because we wanted to spark people’s interest and curiosity and let them feel a connection to the ciders. What we liked about the new branding is that each design has a drawing of people’s hands with fruit. It felt authentic to us that we were centering our branding around the connection to the fruit.”
I never thought about it until visiting the Routsons’ orchards, but there were apple trees in my childhood, too. One grew on the south side of my grandparents’ house, others just north of their property, in a field frequented by cattle. I was told not to eat the fruit because it was a “crabapple.”
The admonition came with a tone of voice that implied terrible things would happen if I failed to follow directions, so I obeyed. After talking to the Routsons, I understand that crabapple is a catch-all term for apple trees that produce small fruit high in tannins; they are considered inedible due to their sourness, tartness, or astringency, but they make great cider.
In a year, Stoic produces eight to 10 different keg varieties, including Sedona’s Best, Javelina Rosé, Palisade Peach, and Wild Prickly Pear, made with foraged fruit that is pressed on the farm. “Creativity is limited only by the number of hours in the day,” says Tierney.
The orchard and current production facility are located on private property, which is not open to the public. There are future plans to open a larger production facility and tasting room in Prescott.
Stoic Cider is available in Prescott, Flagstaff, the Verde Valley, and Phoenix. You can support the research and literally taste history by sipping a beverage or visiting stoiccider.com.
The Harrison apple has a history. The apple’s origin has been traced to New Jersey in the early 1700s. It gained fame in 1817 when William Coxe sang its praises as possibly the best cider-making apple. Supposedly, George Washington favored it too. Time passed, tastes changed, and the alcohol ban of Prohibition happened. The tree was thought to be extinct until it was rediscovered in New Jersey in the mid-1970s.
Want another taste of the Harrison apple’s history? Read more about it in Edible New Jersey.
