Riddle # 12

Before there was a label, before there was a name,

A musician walked the hillsides and the apples called his claim.

He hauled them out in backpacks through the hedgerows and the trees,

And pressed them into something dry, complex, and built to please.

What fills the glass tastes like fine wine, though no grapes were ever grown

Just wild fruit and patience on a hillside all his own.

The sheep keep the grass tidy, the valley spreads below,

And Cayuga Lake shimmers in the distance’s golden glow.

Four miles from the city where the road climbs south and steep,

A tasting room awaits you with a view worth every leap.

Find the hill where apples speak and music fills the air

Follow where the forager built something wild and rare.