BLAIRSVILLE — With the fall foliage of the North Georgia Mountains showing off on a late October Friday, Josh Fuder and Ray Covington were busy sinking their teeth into apples, enjoying the literal fruits of their labor.
With names like Swiss Limbertwig, Terry Winter and Yates, the heirloom varieties they tasted were once common across the Southeast, part of a vibrant, regional apple industry that existed in the early 20th century. Today, these cultivars and many others are scarcely found anywhere but on this hillside at the Georgia Mountain Research and Education Center.
Covington, the center’s superintendent, and Fuder, a University of Georgia extension agent, think this orchard can change that. Planted two days before the university shut down at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, the UGA Heritage Apple Orchard in Blairsville aims to rediscover these forgotten apples and perhaps spark a Southern apple revival.
The orchard is now home to trees from 138 varieties — a “Noah’s Ark” for apples, the researchers say, with two specimens of each.
The trees are still in their awkward preteen phase, with slender trunks and spindly branches. But this year, many produced their first fruit, a milestone for a project its collaborators hope will prove useful to growers big and small to make their crops more resilient, as they grapple with rising temperatures from climate change.
‘Those are all gone’
Apples are usually regarded as a cold-loving, northern fruit — and for good reason. Washington is by far the nation’s top apple-producing state, followed by Michigan, New York and Pennsylvania, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture.
That wasn’t always the case.
Credit: Ben Gray for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Credit: Ben Gray for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution
In the early 1900s, as new railroads offered access to larger markets and growers discovered that North Georgia’s climate suited the fruit, mountain counties like Habersham, Rabun and White enjoyed an apple heyday, said Stephen Mihm, a professor and associate dean at UGA’s Franklin College of Arts and Sciences.
“Prior to this, every farm would have had an apple tree, but it was at this moment that there was a real, genuine effort — and a successful effort, for a time — to have a commercial apple crop in Georgia,” he said.
But by the 1920s, the region’s apple boom began to falter. There are many theories why, Fuder and Mihm said.
The start of Prohibition slashed demand for Georgia apples, largely grown for cider. The industry’s center of gravity also shifted to Washington state, which was better situated for national distribution. Around the same time, successful marketing — and a push for predictable and efficient harvests — led growers to consolidate around a few brand-name varieties, like Red Delicious. Those that came to dominate were not southern ones.
Credit: Ben Gray for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Credit: Ben Gray for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Georgia still grows apples, but most orchards have shifted to agritourism, Mihm said.
Along the way, many of the state’s apples vanished.
“We had a variety called Etowah that was described and found in Canton,” Fuder said. “We had a variety called Chattahoochee that was named in Cobb County, of all places. But those are all gone.”
Genetic keys for a hotter future
The researchers behind the Heritage Apple Orchard want to ensure other apples avoid a similar fate.
All of the trees here were once grown in Georgia or were staples of the region’s fruit trade.
Credit: Ben Gray for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Credit: Ben Gray for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Some trees were sourced from the USDA’s apple bank in Geneva, New York, and the personal orchards of Fuder and Mihm. The pair’s affinity for apples led them to one another, and their partnership — along with Covington, who tends to the trees’ day-to-day needs — is the driving force behind the project.
The others have been found in nooks and crannies across the South: behind family homes, near power lines and in Georgia’s few remaining nurseries, the last bastions for many varieties.
Some of the orchard’s cultivars are already well-documented.
Hewe’s Crab, a small reddish-yellow variety, was once popular with cider makers and a favorite of former President Thomas Jefferson, who grew the apples at his Monticello estate in Virginia. Then, there are others like Bentley’s Guest House — which was found near a guesthouse, hence the name — that could be a documented heirloom or another kind completely foreign to today’s growers.
Already, some of the orchard’s apples have drawn attention from cider makers and the researchers believe others could have commercial appeal.
“A lot of these have that nice balance of sweet and acidity … sometimes even tannins, if we’re talking about cider production,” Fuder said. “Most modern apples just don’t have that.”
It’s also possible traits helpful to growers in an era of climate change could be lurking inside some varieties.
As human activity heats up the planet, no season is warming faster than winter in the continental U.S. But like other fruit, apples still need a certain amount of time in the cold — known as a chilling requirement — to set healthy buds and fruit. With chill hours expected to become more scarce, Mihm said it’s possible Southern lineages harbor genetic keys that could help growers adapt.
“Apples that were bred to thrive in warm, humid conditions likely contain disease-resistance and other capabilities that may be worthy of crossbreeding back into existing stock,” Mihm said.
‘There has to be a reason’
The project is also about uncovering history, the researchers said, and each apple has its own human story to tell.
Aside from the occasional oddball, apples trees must be cross-pollinated or fertilized by pollen from a different variety to produce fruit and in turn, more seeds. But the plant that grows from those new seeds will be genetically distinct from its parents, displaying its own expression of traits in its fruit.
Credit: Ben Gray for the AJC
Credit: Ben Gray for the AJC
The only way to preserve and reproduce the exact color, texture and flavor of a beloved apple is by grafting the tender offshoot of a tree, called scion wood, onto a compatible rootstock. For thousands of years, this is how apples have been spread and shared: by people, hand to hand.
As the trees grow, the researchers hope to learn why these apples were the ones that survived — and discover the stories of the people who made sure they did.
Fuder, the UGA extension agent, said he is realistic.
“Not all of these varieties are going to be sought after and have widespread adoption,” he said.
“But you never know,” he added later. “They’ve made it this far … There has to be a reason.”
A note of disclosure
This coverage is supported by a partnership with Green South Foundation and Journalism Funding Partners. You can learn more and support our climate reporting by donating at ajc.com/donate/climate.
