Story Behind The Song

Harold Price (Old Harold) and Joe Klieber (Papa Joe) bought a cider press and made apple cider every Fall. Dan Price (Uncle Dan) keeps their legacy alive through this annual tradition.

Lyrics

Verse 1
Old Harold wore his faded overalls by the bales of hay
With a weathered cap and a quiet farmer's way
Papa Joe had his flannel shirt and blue jeans, strong hands with a playful grin
They'd fire up that cider press, their Fall tradition

Verse 2
No one really knows the story, where it came from, or what they paid
Just a rusty crank and wooden drum where memories were made
They'd pick apples in the orchard, puffin' on cigars
Telling tales, laughin' loud, until they saw the harvest stars

Chorus
Oh the wind turns crisp and the leaves fall slow
The sweet smell of cider starts to rise and roll
And in that smoky haze, I still hear 'em laugh
Old Harold and Papa Joe, around the cider press
Simple things, but they meant the most
Two old souls we loved the most
They're long gone, but every Fall, I know they never left
Their spirit turns the crank on that cider press

Verse 3
Now Uncle Dan keeps the fire burnin', like Harold and Joe used to
He wipes the handle, pours a glass, and says, "This one's for you"
Kids runnin' underneath tall trees, chasin' lonely leaves and leanin' into light-hearted laughs
And if you close your eyes just right, you can hear 'em in the past

Chorus
When the wind turns crisp and the leaves fall slow
The sweet smell of cider starts to rise and roll
And in that smoky haze, I still hear 'em laugh
Old Harold and Papa Joe, around the cider press
Simple things, but they meant the most
Two old souls we loved the most
They're long gone, but every Fall, I know they never left
Their spirit turns the crank on that cider press

Bridge
Wooden porch rail, boots by the door
That crank keeps turnin' like the years before
And every time that press starts creakin' loud
It's like they're back again, right here and now

Final Chorus
Yeah the wind turns crisp and the leaves fall slow
And cider runs like a memory flow
Through laughter, smoke, and tenderness
I see Old Harold and Papa Joe at the cider press
Simple things, but they built a life
In flannel shirts and farmer's stripes
They're long gone, but every Fall, we feel them nonetheless
Their spirit turns the crank on that cider press