My mother was known for many years in the family for her delicious pies. She just had a way with the crust. The pie was her specialty for sure. It did not matter whether she made a creamed pie, fruit pie, or some other mouthwatering kind, it was always a treat. I learned to make a good pie but never as good as mom’s pie. I had to laugh recently telling my friends about how long I had been trying to make just the best kind of pie in the neighborhood and where it all began for me.
My pie-making actually started when I was quite young. I practiced my baking skills in the driveway of our home. I would mix the darkest of earth digging it out of the flower beds all around the house. Adding just the right amount of water using measuring cups, bowls, and metal pie pans, removed from mom’s kitchen cupboards when she wasn’t looking.
I fashioned my pies by stirring the mud vigorously in the bowls and pounding the mud into the pans. While they dried on the ledge of the driveway I would venture around the yard looking for bright yellow dandelions, bluebells, and pretty grasses for the topping. A few selective stones here and there would be fine too.
They were really quite spectacular although certainly less tasty than mom’s pies today. Nevertheless, I invited my family to come and enjoy my creations. They lovingly obliged as I proudly served them my specialty.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sharon Smith was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest (USA); owned a healthcare uniform business for many years. She also lived in Japan and presently resides in Michigan. She blogs about her experiences and shared observations touching on culture, lifestyle, and the people around her.