By Charles E. Reineke
Every morning during Washington鈥檚 annual apple harvest, an army of pickers descend upon the vast orchards surrounding the city of Yakima. Working through the day, they skillfully traverse the seemingly endless lines of trees, plucking ripe fruit and filling industrial-size bins with apples. Lots of apples. Literally tons of apples.
Last year, according to the Washington State Tree Fruit Association, growers in the Yakima Valley produced an estimated 134 million 40-pound boxes. Each of these boxes, depending on the size of the fruit they hold, contains around 80 pieces. For those of you keeping score, that鈥檚 an astonishing 10.7 billion apples.
Most of this apple abundance ends up on grocery store shelves, both here in the United States and around the world, where 鈥� if not munched straight away 鈥� it makes its way into pies and tarts, cobblers and crisps, muffins and cakes. Some of it goes to commercial processors, who turn their own slice of the harvest into jams and jellies, sauces and spreads, even extracts and essences.
None of this is news to 51福利社 alumnus Marcus Robert 鈥�03, a man for whom no aspect of the apple experience is unfamiliar. Robert comes from a family of orchard keepers, and he was raised atop the loess and alluvial soils that 鈥� along with its sunny, temperate climate 鈥� make the Yakima environs so fruit-friendly. Since 2008, he鈥檚 used this knowledge to become a leader in the movement to popularize yet another way of enjoying apples鈥� healthful bounty, a product that demonstrates that everything old can, in fact, be new again.
In this case, the 鈥渙ld鈥� is hard apple cider, that slightly fizzy, mildly alcoholic beverage that has been around, in one form or another, since antiquity. Here in North America, cider was once ubiquitous, as newly arrived Europeans grew apples, fermented juice and drank it in abundance. In fact, according to a history published by Washington State University Extension, cider was so widely consumed in Colonial America that even children drank it in diluted form.
While undoubtedly enjoyable, our ancestors had practical reasons for hitting the hard (cider) stuff. Because water was often not safe to drink, pressing and fermenting apple juice allowed families to make and store a healthy alternative to H2O. Making cider could also contribute to a household鈥檚 bottom line. Demand was so robust that taxes, wages and tithes were often paid with it.
Hard cider鈥檚 popularity began to wane in the middle of the 19th century, as industrialization and urban living provided alternatives to rural folkways. By 1900, an oft-cited report from Connecticut lamented, 鈥溾�� not one family in ten has even one single barrel on tap as a beverage.鈥� Nineteen years later, Prohibition almost killed off cider completely.
Which brings us back to Marcus Robert.
Robert is the cider maker and co-owner of Tieton Cider Works, a Yakima-based cidery that takes its name from the small town where the company鈥檚 first few barrels of artisan cider were produced. Those early Tieton (pronounced tie-uh-ton) products, crafted from apples harvested at Craig and Sharon Campbell鈥檚 Harmony Orchards, were of the homespun, value-added type of offerings. But their potential was undeniable.
鈥淭hey didn鈥檛 really have a fermentation background,鈥� Robert says of those early days. 鈥淏ut they had a building, a few tanks and some high-quality apples. And so we kind of just started from there.鈥�
Those early Tieton (pronounced聽tie-uh-ton) products, crafted from apples harvested at Craig and Sharon Campbell鈥檚 Harmony Orchards, were of the homespun, value-added type of offerings. But their potential was undeniable.
鈥淏asically,鈥� he continues, 鈥渢hey were farmers who wanted to diversify. Most of the apple crop that you grow there goes directly into a retail channel 鈥� to supermarkets. The Campbells were interested in adding something different, in their case cider making, and so they invested about five acres in producing fruit for the project.鈥�
After bringing Robert on board, they leveraged his experience as a grower to introduce some 40 different types of cider-friendly, heirloom apples 鈥� varietals with evocative names such as Golden Russets, Winesaps, Gravensteins and Newtown Pippins 鈥� on those five acres. The goal at the time, as Robert remembers it, 鈥渨as just to see how they did in the Yakima Valley.鈥�
This was well before today鈥檚 international cider boom, and Robert recalls that he and the Campbells felt like they were flying blind. 鈥淣o one was growing them then,鈥� he says. 鈥淭here was no research, nothing. You know, we tried to talk to WSU about them, but they didn鈥檛 really have any good information about these varieties that are specifically grown to make cider.鈥�
And yet the experiment was a success. The trees thrived, and soon Robert and the Campbells were bottling (no canning in those days) hard cider made from their fruit. Trial and error, along with Robert鈥檚 unerring nose and sensitive palate, led them to heirlooms 鈥� and some more common 鈥渄essert apples鈥� 鈥� with just the right flavors, aromas and textures for making higher-end cider.
鈥淵ou know, I鈥檓 a grower,鈥� Robert says. 鈥淚 know everything from the dirt to the bottle. So it just kind of made sense for me to be there. We had maybe a thousand cases that first year, 2008. It was before Angry Orchard, the ad blitzes and the boom in national sales. There were, I think, only 12 cideries at that time in the whole of the Pacific Northwest. All of them were very small, making a thousand, maybe a couple of thousand cases each year.
鈥淎t Tieton, we thought that if we could make and sell maybe 1,000 cases, that would be pretty good. But we eclipsed that number right away, and that was just selling in local markets in Seattle and Portland.鈥�
These days, the Tieton Cider Works is located in a 30,000 square-foot, state-of-the-art facility just north of downtown Yakima. When running at full capacity, Robert and his team produce some 9,000 gallons of cider each week. Their canning line, in total, cranks out more than 250,000 cases each year. They鈥檝e also got a well-appointed tasting room with an outdoor patio that attracts both casual visitors and hard cider aficionados from across the nation.
During a recent visit to the production side of the building, 900-pound bins of plump Pink Lady apples were lined up to begin their juicing journey, a trip which will include sorting, washing and 鈥渕illing鈥� into mash for pressing. The resulting juice will then be tanked, fed yeast, fermented, then 鈥渞acked鈥� or filtered to remove the accumulated sediments or 鈥渓ees.鈥�
鈥淲e鈥檒l press about 500 to 600 gallons an hour, and we run about four days each week,鈥� Robert says over the rumble of the machinery. Some of the juice goes into blending tanks, where different varieties of apple juice are commingled to make some of Tieton鈥檚 best-selling ciders. Other juices stand alone as 鈥渟ingle varietal鈥� offerings, while still others get co-fermented or blended with other fruits, hops and flavors. Robert鈥檚 Lavender Honey Cider, for example, is a customer favorite and perennial award winner, including earning a double-platinum award from Cidercraft magazine in 2020.
鈥淲e鈥檝e had to do a lot of research,鈥� says Robert. 鈥淲hen we first started, as I said, we had a lot of trees growing that we didn鈥檛 know what the fruit was going to be like. Later, I did a lot of research on yeasts, racking regimes, cooling 鈥� all the different kinds of stuff you need to think about to produce a good cider. At the end of the day, as a wine maker or cider maker, to make the best product you need to have the least amount of inputs. So that鈥檚 what we do now. We press juice, we add yeast and then, eight-to-ten days later, we鈥檒l have a fresh, dry cider that we can use to make our blends.鈥�
Robert, who graduated from 51福利社 with a biology degree, didn鈥檛 always think he鈥檇 find his calling turning apples into cider. As both a talented athlete (he spent his first year at Eastern as an Eagle running back) and serious science student, he imagined he鈥檇 one day become a physician specializing in sports medicine.
But as fate would have it, a summertime gig fighting fires, led, after graduation, to a full-time career as a wildland firefighter. The job involved long hours in challenging conditions, but Robert loved that it was important, fulfilling work. It also offered up, when fire season slowed, sustained periods of downtime. Among other activities, the seldom-idle Robert used these respites to continue a fascination with fermentation, especially beer brewing, that he鈥檇 developed as an undergraduate living in Dressler Hall. [Reporter: 鈥淚鈥檓 assuming the beer making was happening outside of the dormitory?鈥� Robert: 鈥淯h, sure. Let鈥檚 say that.鈥漖
While he still appreciates a quality brew, it was the vinification side of the fermentation arts that later became a passion 鈥� which the quality of his finished wine bottles soon reflected. As word of his winemaking prowess got around, he started crafting vino for friends in Yakima, typically from grapes grown on small side plots on their farms.
Meanwhile, in his Spokane-based day job, Robert rose to the level of fire-crew captain, eventually spending more than a decade fighting wildfires across the PNW. As the years went by, however, he and his wife, Amy, a Yakima native and fellow Eastern graduate whose family boasts deep ties to the university, began thinking about returning back home. Perhaps, they thought, they could make wine professionally. Having their first child helped accelerate the process.
So we looked at the property 鈥� it was just around the corner from where Marcus grew up 鈥� and we were like, 鈥榃ell, it does have a really cool old building. But what would we do with it?鈥欌�� For his part, Robert recalls, he wasn鈥檛 at first convinced there was聽anything聽to be done with it.
鈥淢y parents lived there,鈥� says Robert. 鈥淎my鈥檚 parents lived there. It was just like, a no-brainer. We wanted our kids to grow up around their families.鈥� So when Amy 鈥�03 heard about a listing for an historic, picturesque apple-packing warehouse near where they鈥檇 grown up, she and Robert were intrigued.
鈥淚n the process of our moving back,鈥� Amy says, 鈥渕y dad鈥檚 friend approached him and said, 鈥榃ell, there鈥檚 this piece of property that鈥檚 been for sale before, and now it鈥檚 kind of in limbo. But I think the bank would be interested in getting rid of it.鈥� So we looked at the property 鈥� it was just around the corner from where Marcus grew up 鈥� and we were like, 鈥榃ell, it does have a really cool old building. But what would we do with it?鈥欌��
For his part, Robert recalls, he wasn鈥檛 at first convinced there was anything to be done with it.
鈥淭he windows were shot out, probably because I shot them out when I was a kid,鈥� he says with a laugh. 鈥淎nd it was full of trash and everything else. But we made an offer on it, and got the land, the building and everything with it.鈥�
Today the apple warehouse is beautifully restored and home to the Robert鈥檚 Fontaine Estates Winery, a boutique production facility and event space. Robert still makes wine for the Fontaine label, while Amy manages events. Due to the vagaries of fine wine making and, especially, the burdens of distributing and marketing retail wines, it is now the event side of the business that predominates.
鈥淲e were booking stuff and were otherwise about as busy as I wanted us to be,鈥� says Amy. 鈥淪o we decided that maybe we were at that place where the event part of it was the thing to focus on, rather than trying to do the wine tastings and getting people out here to buy wine. So we shifted that focus and really dug into the events, primarily weddings.鈥�
Which makes good sense, given the size, scope and growth of Tieton Cider Works. And as the business has grown, so has Robert鈥檚 reputation.
Over the past decade, in fact, Robert has established himself as a key player in a national cohort of cider makers who have captured the imagination and allegiance of America鈥檚 next-generation imbibers, especially younger adults aiming to expand their food-friendly drinking options.
Last year, according to statistics compiled by Beverage Industry magazine, retail U.S. hard cider sales topped $474 million, with more than 10 million cases consumed by thirsty consumers. Much of the energy in the 鈥渃ider segment,鈥� the magazine said, was driven by the type of creative flavor offerings 鈥� ciders featuring blends with apricot, peach, raspberry and other fruits 鈥� that have long driven Tieton鈥檚 selections.
Robert doesn鈥檛 take credit for inventing these creative infusions. But his early, and successful, embrace of expanding cider鈥檚 boundaries has made him something of an inspiration to many of his fellow cider makers. You might even say he鈥檚 a celebrity in cider circles.聽
鈥淗e really has just learned and grown and amassed this huge knowledge base on cider,鈥� says Amy Robert. 鈥淚 think it was in 2014 that we went back East to a big cider festival with Craig and Sharon. It was just crazy. There were all these people there who knew exactly who Marcus was, all because of the things he was doing at Tieton.鈥�
As a current board member of the American Cider Association, Robert is still working to extend cider鈥檚 reach, says Michelle McGrath, the council鈥檚 CEO.
The ACA was founded in 2013, McGrath says, with the straightforward goal of growing and protecting the cider industry. 鈥淟ike most associations,鈥� McGrath says, 鈥渨e鈥檙e really focused on education and advocacy鈥� We are working really hard to help the hospitality and wholesaler industries learn more about cider, so that they will embrace the category with open arms and understanding.鈥�
Robert came on board in 2016, just after McGrath became its leader. As someone with a background in promoting value-added options for farmers, she says, she immediately recognized Robert as a uniquely positioned asset: 鈥淔or a long time, Marcus was one of the sole grower voices on the board. And definitely he鈥檚 the largest orchardist on the board. So Marcus is in an interesting position, because he represents the grower-maker, but he also runs a retail-driven cidery that is doing very well in the regional market.鈥�
鈥淗e鈥檚 been especially helpful in thinking about how to create value for the association and for our members,鈥� she adds. That value, she continues, is centered around helping cider 鈥斅爐hat ancient, once almost forgotten beverage 鈥� further establish itself among a young, diverse set of consumers.
鈥淔lavorful, fruit-forward, bubbly, convenient, fun, non-pretentious, health conscious: These are all things that are driving the beverage trends these days,鈥� says McGrath. 鈥淐ider checks all of those boxes, with the additional box that none of the other categories have: It鈥檚 made from natural whole ingredients, and it has an agricultural story.鈥�
An agricultural story: The land, the soil, the climate. These are the things, says Robert, that make the Yakima Valley unique, and make Tieton cider so special. It鈥檚 also why he always knew, somehow, that he鈥檇 be coming back to the orchards.
鈥淚 grew up here,鈥� Robert says. 鈥淯p the road in Naches. I鈥檓 a fourth-generation orchardist. I was raised on an orchard, and I still own and operate that orchard. About 60, maybe 70 acres of apples and pears and peaches. That鈥檚 something you inherit from your parents, these places, these ties to the land.鈥�
鈥斅燱ant to visit ? Their child and pet-friendly tasting room is located at 619 West J Street in Yakima. It is open on Fridays and Saturdays from noon 鈥� 8 p.m., on Sundays from noon 鈥� 5 p.m.