Thirty-four weeks. The baby is head-down, locked and loaded (as Ryan says, because Marines cannot resist military metaphors even when discussing childbirth). The midwife says he's measuring on track, my blood pressure is good, and I should 'rest as much as possible,' which is medical advice that ignores the reality of being a twenty-year-old woman alone in an apartment with a freezer full of soup and a compulsive need to organize.
Mom is coming on November 12th. Three days before Ryan arrives. She's driving from Norfolk with 'supplies,' which knowing Mom means a car packed to the ceiling with food, baby gear, and opinions.
'I'm bringing my slow cooker,' she said.
'I have a slow cooker.'
'You have A slow cooker. I'm bringing THE slow cooker.'
There is a hierarchy of slow cookers. Mom's is superior. This is not up for debate.
Megan called. She was... nice. Surprisingly nice. She asked how I was feeling (huge), what I needed (nothing, everything), whether Ryan was definitely coming (confirmed, God willing). Then she said: 'I'm proud of you, Rachel.'
I waited for the 'but.' The 'but' didn't come.
'You're doing something I couldn't do,' she continued. 'The alone part. The deployment. The cooking and the surviving and all of it. I couldn't do that.'
'You could, Megan. If you had to.'
'I don't know. But you ARE doing it. And I see that.'
Megan. My sister. The one who color-codes her planner and married a wallpaper lobbyist and lives in Arlington. Megan, telling me she's proud of me. Without a 'but.' Without a suggestion. Just: I see you.
I made Mom's apple crisp tonight — the recipe from the engagement week, apples and oats and butter. I ate it alone on the couch with a blanket and a baby kicking and my sister's voice in my head saying 'I see you.'
Three weeks until Mom. Three weeks until Ryan. Six weeks until Caleb.
Everyone is coming. The slow cooker is coming. And Megan sees me.
That's a good week.
After Megan called — after that conversation I’d been waiting years to have — I didn’t want to make anything fussy or complicated. I wanted something warm, something that filled the apartment with a smell that felt like people were already here. I’ve been thinking about Mom’s slow cooker all week anyway, and this recipe has everything: the apples from the crisp she made during engagement week, the kind of savory-sweet combination that makes a small apartment feel like a full house. It was exactly right for a night like that one.
Slow-Cooker Sausage and Apples
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 4 hours | Total Time: 4 hours 10 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 2 lbs smoked sausage or kielbasa, sliced into 1/2-inch rounds
- 4 medium apples (such as Honeycrisp or Fuji), cored and sliced into wedges
- 1 medium yellow onion, sliced thin
- 1/4 cup brown sugar, packed
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1/2 cup apple cider or apple juice
- 1 tablespoon butter, cut into small pieces
Instructions
- Layer the base. Place the sliced onion in an even layer on the bottom of the slow cooker insert.
- Add sausage and apples. Arrange the sausage slices and apple wedges on top of the onion, alternating or layering as you go.
- Mix the seasoning. In a small bowl, stir together the brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and black pepper. Sprinkle evenly over the sausage and apples.
- Add liquid and butter. Pour the apple cider over everything, then dot the top with the small pieces of butter.
- Cook low and slow. Cover and cook on LOW for 3—4 hours, or on HIGH for 1.5—2 hours, until apples are tender and the sausage is heated through and glazed.
- Serve warm. Spoon into bowls or serve alongside mashed potatoes, egg noodles, or crusty bread to soak up the pan juices.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 420 | Protein: 16g | Fat: 26g | Carbs: 31g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 890mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 135 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.