Batlow’s got a lovely bunch of apples
There they are, all standing in a row
Big ones, bigger ones, some as big as a shed
Their enormous size draws tourists like flies
That’s what Bigs Bardot said
They reckon Batlow is a town built on apples but, after a thorough investigation, I can reveal that most buildings are actually constructed upon concrete foundations. The locals do, however, go wild for a fresh honeycrisp.
Not only do Batlow’s farmers provide 10% of the country’s total crop (a fact repeated by far more than 10% of the Batlowians I encountered), but there are THREE Big Apples dotted around the picturesque village.
With only 1,313 residents, that’s one Big Apple per 437.666666667 Batlowians. I like those odds!
The most prominent is the original Big Apple, an assuming fellow who’s lived just north of town for the past four decades. He’s the size of a small house, but don’t think about going in for a cuddle, because he’s on private land and it’s not possible to get within 100 metres of him. Oh well, distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Until recently the Apple was barely visible through the flourishing orchards, but they’ve been thinned out in recent years due to fire, so it’s easy to see this scarlet scoundrel. Grab your binoculars and settle in for a big afternoon of apple-gazing!
The Appleman Cometh
Wilgro Orchard, a few hundred metres south, is home to a second Big Apple. Alright, it’s only half an apple pasted to a wall, but the owners are good people so I’ll give them a break. After snapping some memorable photos with this Apple, I popped inside for a dollop of Wilgrow’s famous apple chutney and a cheeky glass of their world-renowned cider. You know, just to make sure they’re fresh.
After Gordon’s performance at the Darkes Forest Apple, we decided it was best for him to stay in the car, but on my way out he gave me the sort of judgemental look that only recovering alcoholics can.
Halfway through my fifth can of the astonishingly good Batlow Road Cider, a funny little man with a bright red nose and a pronounced lisp wrapped his arms around me and introduced himself as The Appleman. His embrace lasted a little too long, but we were both appreciative of the human contact.
“Bigs,” he slurred, before taking more than a sip out of my can. “It was January 2020. The flames climbed to the heavens and the wind was hotter than hell. The orange nightmare raged towards Batlow, destroying everything in its path. Houses were lost. Memories were eaten by the flames. But the community came together and fought the fire, standing shoulder to shoulder to beat it back.
“We saved the Big Apples that day, my handsome friend. All three of them.”
“And the rest of the village?”
“I guess so,” shrugged the inebriate. “I only really cared about the Apples.”
The drunk’s story was so inspirational that I shared about 12 cans of cider with him as we discussed processes that could be implemented to prevent other Big Apples – such as the ones in Tallong, Yerrinbool, Acacia Ridge and Balhannah – falling victim to the folly of bushfire in the future. And whether a polar bear could beat a karate man in a fight.
Unfortunately I made the unforgivable faux pas of asking for a cup of pear cider.
“This is an apple town, Bigs,” The Appleman boomed as he threw me into the street. “Don’t you forget it!”
Core, Blimey!
Fortunately Gordon – who made it clear he wasn’t angered by my behaviour, just disappointed – was able to drive me to the third Apple, located a few hundred metres north of town. As he sat in the car calling those he’d wronged during his drunken years, I took a few happy snaps with what the locals call the redheaded stepchild of the Batlow Big Apples.
Created for annual Batlow CiderFest, this one’s pretty run down, discoloured, and is only half an apple. If I hadn’t been so drunk on good cider and great conversation, I may not have considered him a Big Thing at all. On the bright side, he’s the only one of the three positioned for a kiss and a cuddle.
I indulged myself in animated conversation with this Apple until Gordon – capricious as always – dragged me away and threw me in the boot of the car. It was for my own good, really.
Batlow’s Big Apples are shiny, sultry and seductive. But they’re also too much fun for one afternoon, and the sensory overload of encountering so many oversized fruits in such a short period of time will prove too much for all but the most cold-hearted party pooper.
My advice is to relax, give yourself plenty of time, and don’t head to Batlow if you’re traveling with a recovering alcoholic alien – they’ll only get in the way of a good time.
