She nods. “What does that taste like?”

At Elderkin’s, Anna tucks in to slice after slice of pie served up by owner Peter Elderkin. “When a five-year-old eats three pieces of pie, you know you are on to a good thing,” he chuckles. His apple pie is superb — bite after bite of luscious cooked apple and light, flaky pastry — and, of course, it is made from Gravensteins. He says that no apple cooks down like the Grav (most apples, in fact, hold their shape when cooked, while the Grav turns almost to mush). It’s always been the preferred pie apple in Nova Scotia.

It’s speculated that the first apple tree was introduced in Port-Royal, at the western end of the Annapolis Valley, by Acadian settlers in the early 1600s. Elderkins have farmed the valley since 1760. Originally from Connecticut, they were “planted” by the British after the 1755 expulsion of the Acadians. Elderkin and his family live in a 176-year-old house on the 28-hectare farm 100 kilometres from Halifax. As I look about, I hear my grandmother’s voice in my head: “Nothing gussied up about this place.”

Elderkin and his wife Judy began operating the farm as a U-pick in 1985 to bring in extra income. They opened the market store in 1996 and recently obtained a cottage winery licence. But they’re feeling the squeeze. A condominium complex has gone up four metres from their property line.

The farm grows 75 varieties of apples, and as we head into the orchards, Elderkin points to a Bough Sweet tree nearly 150 years old. He reaches up and grabs an apple, demonstrating how to twist it off the tree, snapping rather than breaking it off.

“Pretend they are eggs,” he says, showing Anna and her seven-year-old sister Mary how to put the apples in a bag without bruising them.

The girls disappear into the heavenly forest heavy with red apples. In the background, the North Mountain is ablaze with autumn leaves. Cape Blomidon juts out into the Minas Basin, famous for its red mud, and the Cornwallis River winds inland through the fields.

THE NEXT DAY, we continue our search for heritage varieties. James is working, so the kids and I are joined by my friend Dom and her two children. We make our way to Dempsey Corner Orchards, a 148-hectare operation that wholesales fruit and offers a U-pick, market and bakery. A red barn and century home dominate the property, with orchards rolling up the North Mountain.

Allison Maher comes striding out to meet us along with her three-legged dog, Relic. She runs the U-pick and market on her husband David Bowlby’s family farm. Dempsey’s 20,000 apple trees are made up of 57 varieties of apples. Their heritage block has cultivars now virtually extinct, including Strawberry Pippin and Winter Banana, but Maher tells us the trees aren’t marked. We’ll have to hunt down each variety by sampling.

“Think of apple tasting as you would wine tasting,” she says. “Each apple has a different essence, with a distinct bouquet and aftertaste.” A tractor-driven wagon takes us up the mountain, where the driver drops us off in the heritage block. I ask where I might find the Strawberry Pippin. The driver shrugs, smiles and points at a mass of tangled trees.

The air is still and heavy with the smell of apples and warm autumn hay. It’s rare to see grand trees with swooping limbs. Modern apple trees are grown on dwarf rootstock, making them easier to manage and, of course, easier to pick.

We wade through the high grasses and taste sweet, bitter, tangy, mellow, crisp, dry, juicy and downright sour. But, alas, no strawberry. Then we spy some unusuallooking apples high up in a tree — pale yellow skin with a blush of soft pink. It’s the Winter Banana — an apple that tastes just like a banana, with a delicate and juicy flesh. “It tastes like a banana Popsicle,” say the girls. Like its namesake, it bruises with the slightest pressure. We sit and munch, then gather up a bag for careful transport home. The light is fading, so we make our way down the hill.

As for the Strawberry Pippin, we’ll come hunting for it next year.

Writer Christy Ann Conlin lives on an apple farm in the Annapolis Valley. Dan Callis is a photographer based in Halifax.