Yates Cider Mill

A few miles north of my parents house there is a cider mill, called Yates Cider Mill, which we would visit every fall.  The cider mill was built near the Clinton River, and used a stream to power the mill.  The mill wheel is still there, and when I was a girl I would watch it creak as it slowly rotated, spilling water as it turned, while we waited in line.  Inside the mill it was always packed, and we would watch the workers as they filled giant wooden forms with crushed apples.  The press would be lowered, and the golden cider would start flowing to be bottled up and purchased by folks like us.  With warm donuts, nothing was better than cider from Yates Cider Mill.  Without the warm donuts, it was still the best.

When I went out to college, I eagerly purchased cider when it appeared in the grocery stores, and was bitterly disappointed when the Utah cider fell so far short of what I remembered.  Cider varies in taste depending on the apples used, and the apples in Utah were nothing compared to the apples from Michigan.

I've carried the tradition of Yates Cider Mill to my new family; Dan is a firm believer in Yates as well, which is good, because I don't have to convince him to buy me cider.  And we've started a new tradition, of taking pictures in the old wagon they have parked in the grass, near the goats.

Yes goats.  You can buy them food, and feed them if you wish.  And there are stands where you can buy hotdogs, or hot nuts.  They also sell apples, and pumpkins, and there is a fudge shop.  Complete with marble slab and you can watch them turning the fudge over and over until it thickens into the deliciousness that is real fudge.

 

And the last few years, there's been a pony ride. Emily got to ride the pony this year.  She loved it.  She insisted on riding a small one (there were horses and ponies).  Her Daddy walked beside her, but she did just fine holding on to the reigns.