In the heart of Southwest Virginia, the quiet community of Sugar Grove, the Combs Family keeps a rich Autumn Appalachian tradition alive: the making of apple butter. This slow-cooked, spiced spread is more than just a seasonal delicacy—it’s a symbol of heritage, hard work, and togetherness of families and neighbors.
For generations, churches, families and neighbors in Sugar Grove have gathered around copper kettles, often before dawn, to stir previously peeled and sliced apples over open wood fires, sharing stories and passing down techniques as old as the mountains themselves.
Apple butter making in this region dates back to the early settlers who relied on preserving fruits to last through the harsh winters. What began as a necessity eventually became a celebrated tradition, with church groups, neighbors, visitors, and family farms organizing this activity each Fall. These events are part work, part festival, featuring laughter, music, and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and firewood filling the crisp mountain air.
Today, making apple butter in Sugar Grove is as much about preserving a way of life as it is about preserving apples. Whether sold at local markets or ladled into jars for holiday gifts, each batch carries with it a sense of place and history that only Southwest Virginia can offer.
What Does The Process Look Like?
On a crisp October morning in Sugar Grove, Virginia, the valley hums with the low crackle of a hardwood fire and the rhythmic scrape of a wooden stirrer against copper. It’s apple butter day at the Combs family homeplace, and that means more than just cooking—it’s a gathering of generations, neighbors, and even curious visitors drawn by the promise of rich tradition and the sweet scent of spiced apples hanging in the cool and still misty, very early morning mountain air. The process is usually underway by 4AM.
A pole structure, open on two sides and draped with a heavy tarp to block the wind on one, sometimes two sides, shelters the heart of the operation: a weathered “cane furnace” fueled by hand-split oak logs. The hardwood burns hot and steady, heating a gleaming copper kettle that’s been cleaned and set in place since before dawn.
Within it, bushels of peeled apples—often Wolf River or another available locally grown variety—have been simmering for hours. The apples slowly break down, to the rich, deep brown of true Appalachian apple butter..
At the center of the kettle stands a stirring stick, worn smooth by decades of use and lovingly passed 
down by Grandad Combs. This stirrer has been passed down through the family, and today, a younger member of the Combs family keeps the rhythm going, arms steady as they guide the long handle around and around. “Don’t stop stirring,” someone calls out with a grin—one of many reminders passed along with the craft. What happens if you stop stirring? The copper kettle scorches on the bottom. The kettle must be constantly stirred to prevent this costly mistake.
Around the fire, a circle begins to form. camp chairs, cinder blocks, and a few other things provide makeshift seating as family and friends gather closer to stay warm. The picnic table is moved over near the cane furnace, Potatoes wrapped in foil roast slowly over heat nearby, filling the air with an earthy, comforting aroma. As the sun climbs higher, casseroles, crock pots, and dessert trays begin to appear on picnic tables—homemade dishes brought by neighbors and friends in true potluck fashion. There’s cornbread, slow-cooked beans, and pies of every kind. There are usually hot dogs to roast over the fire at the other end of the cane furnace as well. It’s a feast earned by patience and fueled by fellowship.
What Exactly Is This “Cane Furnace?”
The cane furnace is a brick rectangular structure standing at a height of about 2 feet that we also use in the process of making molasses with a large rectangular pan. The brick foundation is mudded and provides a place to build a fire under the whole pan to cook cane juice all day. There is a smoke stack to carry smoke up through the roof and away from the work area. When we use this for apple butter making, we do not use the entire length of it and cover it except for a cut out that we have for the kettle so that we still get the use of the smoke stack and use the covered surface for baking potatoes and the fire for roasting hot dogs.
Visitors
Throughout the day, visitors drop by—some from nearby, others from out of state, drawn by memory or curiosity. They’re welcomed with a variety of food options, a chair, and often a story or two. Here in Sugar Grove, making apple butter isn’t just about the end product. It’s about the fire, the food, the stories, and the stirring—together. There is a LOT of stirring! Over the years, we have hosted many guests, some were content creators who produced an entire documentary about Appalachian Life focusing on our apple butter making and others from as far away as New York! Our family’s old time apple butter making has been the subject of the Appalachian Studies curriculum at Radford University and has provided many with insight into the culture and heritage of Southwest Virginia’s people. Some of the lucky ones even get to take a jar or two home with them!
The Day Continues…
As the day wears on, the kettle’s contents darken and thicken, transforming from tart apple pulp into a silky, spiced spread with just the right balance of sweetness, spice and tang as cinnamon and sugar are gradually added. Every so often, several elder family members tests a small spoonful on a saucer, and nodding in quiet approval. “Almost there,” they say, the phrase echoing like a ritual. The patience is part of the process, part of what makes the end result so special. Rushing isn’t an option when it comes to good apple butter.
Grandad, while he was living, made the final call as to when the apple butter was ready. We all learned from his judgement what good apple butter is supposed to taste like. Adding sugar and cinnamon is not a measured process, it depends largely on that year’s apple supply.
Older kids and visitors are expected to help stir, their hands guided by a father, uncle or other elder family member, as they take part in a rite of passage that will live in memory. Stories float in the air like smoke: tales of past gatherings, the year the apple butter was thick enough to slice with a knife, or when a batch turned out just right. Laughter rises with the steam, blending with the occasional crack of firewood, splatter of apple butter from the kettle and the scent of cinnamon that eventually permeates the air and surroundings.
The Combs family’s kettle is well-seasoned, and the process, though old-fashioned, is refined by generations of experience. From selecting just the right blend of apples to maintaining the fire’s heat, every detail matters. The copper kettle, the oak fire, the homemade stirrer—each element has been tested and trusted. There’s a reverence to the day, but also a casual joy. Sometimes Hymns are sung while someone plays an instrument.
This is hard work, yes, but it’s the best kind of work: the kind that brings people together. As the apple butter reaches perfection, thick enough that it clings to the stirrer and slowly peels away from the sides when a spatula is run around the kettle, a quiet excitement builds. The long-awaited moment arrives: time to jar it. A line of sterilized jars waits nearby, steam rising as the thick, fragrant apple butter is ladled in once the kettle is moved off the fire. Hands move quickly but carefully—each jar sealed tight, labeled, and set aside to cool assembly line style. These jars will find their way to holiday tables, Christmas stockings, and maybe even a few local craft fairs.
But before the clean-up begins, before the fire dies down, there’s one more moment to savor: fresh apple butter spread warm over biscuits or cornbread, eaten right there by the fire. This is from the apple butter remaining in the kettle stuck to the sides. It’s a small taste of something much bigger—a reminder of community, of tradition, and of time well spent.
In Sugar Grove, apple butter isn’t just made. It’s shared, celebrated, and remembered.
~In Memory of Grandad~
Sherman G. Combs, Sr.
1933-2017
