Among Cherry Pies and Other Thoughts

  

There was a time when pies were my nemesis. 

For years, I just couldn't get it right.

They were ugly, sloppy, burned, and generally not very appetizing. 

I felt bad every time I served one, yet I continued making them. 

I suppose I considered it a duty - A rite of passage, perhaps. 

Only great cooks can make a prize worthy pie, right? 

My mother made excellent berry pies, lemon and pumpkin, too. 

My mother-in-law could whip up just about any pie imaginable and they were amazing. 

I thought if I could just figure out all the mistakes at the same time, some day, a perfect pie would pop out of that oven... 

So, year after year, season in, seasons out, I attempted still another pie. (My previous tries were actually edible, just not very nice eye candy - more like fruit soup, or occasionally paste). 

In my defense, all great cooks never write down every precise step in the baking process. To the uninitiated, what does a medium hot oven mean anyway? 

It wasn't until I used my mother-in-law's secret pie crust recipe and tapioca, the pies finally resembled something good to eat. Tempting, even.

The light, flaky crust was a nice, golden brown every single time. It was easy to roll out and didn't crumble as I laid it in the pan. It also held up well, if I needed to freeze a few.  I even managed to learn how to make a pretty scalloped edge as a finishing touch. Just a light sprinkling of sugar on the top, and my apple pies were picture perfect. 

Then, came the berry challenge. Just a wee bit of tapioca made all the difference in the world.

My rhubarb pies almost rival my mother-in-law's. I never did learn every little trick she had up her apron sleeve. But that's the best I can do.

Thankfully my tasting crew was very forgiving. They would eat almost any pie I ever made. 

I knew when I had finally arrived at "great pie maker" of my time. The pies would usually disappear before it ever had time to be a forgotten leftover. 

I actually started getting requests for pumpkin, mulberry, or peach pie out of season. 

The kitchen is quiet now.

Most of my taste testers are gone. My health requires fresh, unprocessed, unsweetened food if I want to feel better. All of the apple and cherry trees are aging right along with me.

In my grief, it is difficult to muster up the courage to open the beloved cookbook.

In therapy, it is a grueling procedure to expose and diminish my fears by slowly working my way back into the places that may cause anxiety, whether it makes sense or not.

Identifying the truth from lies, eliminate the torment. Baby steps, starting with the easy stuff. (Hang on, because these things can blind-side you, even when you thought you were better now.) 

Like the elusive "Betty Crocker" style pies, I was trying to make my recipes work without knowing all the little things that make a good cook. Apply that principle to trying to find my bearings again after the loss of our son, Nathanael, and it is easier to see why it helps to find someone who knows what I am going through, to let me know it's ok to not be ok. People need people who have been there and can guide us across this barren wasteland of grief. We all need a support team to sit beside us in the dark.

We can not break the chains of fear all alone.

Nathanael was my biggest fan of all those delicious pies. The last summer together, he had picked and cleaned the cherries so he could have some pie. In this picture, we are celebrating the rock garden the guys put in front of the house that year, with a variety of pies for dessert.

I can still hear the nibbling - no, the devouring, of my cherry pies. Those delicious, slightly tart delicacies had to be served right away, because by morning all that remained was a smile and an empty dish.

But, the compulsion to peek at the rhubarb patch when the snow melts, has failed lead me to the backyard in the spring since then. The biting, yet intriguing flavor of rhubarb is an acquired taste, and I actually like it. The memories it carries, though, made it impossible to even look at rhubarb.

Now I have a big, beautiful patch this year. I guess am brave enough to get someone to cut the stalks for me, and use my baking secrets to rustle up a pie or two. 

We'll see how that goes?

Stories taken from the journey of my life  ↝By: Sue Leerhoff↜ Brick by Brick