Remember to Taste the Apples

You've all heard me mention that this time of year is a very special one for me. You may even know the story. But because it's the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I need to share it again.

Every year, starting from when I was very young until I moved away from home, I would spend this day at my Grammy's house. Most years, I wouldn't be in school and she wouldn't work. We would have gone to the grocery store on Tuesday and purchased all the supplies we needed. On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, we would wake up super early (not an abnormality if you knew my Grammy) and we would sit and stratagize. Every year, Grammy would walk me through figuring out which pies we would make first, and why. I didn't realize until I started making the pies without her that she was teaching me about how the oven temperatures effect the outcome of a good pie, and how, if you plan it just right, you can have one pie ready and waiting to go in as soon as one comes out. A bit more complicated than it seems, because pies that sit out waiting for the oven are not as good either.

After feeding Felix his lunch, we would get busy. Most years we made 6 or more pies. Of course, the traditional pies were there - Apple, Pumkin and Pecan. Other years, we would make Sour Cream and Raisin, Coconut Cream, Blueberry and later (with the addition of Miss. Andrea to the family) a French Silk. We also often made a Heavenly Cheesecake for those among us (me) who doesn't really prefer pie.

The creation of so many pies is a massive undertaking. Not only is it just time consuming, but for all of those years, I was learning Grammy's secrets. She didn't share them with me all at once. When I was really little, I didn't do more than just watch and hand her the spices. As I started growing up, I would start helping with the fillings. I always watched Grammy make the pie crust. Every year, she would talk me through it - but she would do it.

Until the year that I turned 12. That year, she had me make the pie crust for one pie. She stood right behind me, and with her hands over mine, she taught me how to make her pie crust. She literally guided my hands through the motions.

The next year, she stood back while I made one of the pie crusts myself. She let me make mistakes, and then she showed me how to fix them, all the while reminding me that even the best pie-makers would mess it up sometimes.

After that year, we would work together to make the pies. I was never without the watchful eye of my Grammy, but she would let me make some of the pies completely independent of her. Often, the family couldn't tell the difference between my pie and hers. She would always wink at me when the family would rave about one of the pies. It was our effort that brought them together, and it was our love that made that tradition endure.

After I left home, there was some Thanksgivings when I wasn't at home to join Grammy in the pie making. We always talked though. And then the year came when it was time for me to make the pies for the first time without Grammy. Mom, Andrea and I had flown to Texas to be with Matt, his wife and their new baby. Uncle Scott and his partner were also there. I was tasked with making 5 pies and a cheesecake. I got all ready, and started. And then failed. Honestly, I've never been so frusterated in my entire life. My crusts were thin, they were not coming together. Nothing I did was working.

I called my Grammy. She talked to me and got me laughing and then sent me on my way. It still didn't work. My brother is the one who saved the day. Matt came into the kitchen, with his characteristic charm, and gently picked up a pie crust that was stuck to the counter and made it work. Watching him reminded me that I had forgetten the key ingredient - to enjoy it all. The process is just as important as the result.

A couple of years ago, my grammy passed away. One of the last things that she said to me the last time that I saw her was to remember to taste the apples. She was referencing the year that I mistakenly used salt to coat the apples for the apple pie, as opposed to sugar. Thank goodness we tasted the apple mixture before we put it in the pie! We laughed about that every year, and for both of us, it's one of those memories and stories that will endure forever.

I promised my Grammy that she would live on forever through her pies. Some people will not understand the depth of that promise, or why it means so much to me. But then, nobody else was there. Nobody else lived through those years. Nobody else learned over years how to make a pie. Nobody else knows the secrets.

So tonight, on this Wednesday before Thanksgiving, when I'm making pies for the in-law part of my family, the history of that moment will be all around me. As I do most years, I'll probably cry a little and laugh when I taste the apples. I'll set the pies out to cool, and look around my darkened kitchen with the clean dishes and the warm smells and I'll know that my Grammy is right beside me. And when I watch people eat my pies, I'll smile, knowing that no matter the year or the place or the people, the tradition lives on.

And someday, I will pass the secrets on to my grandchild.