While we were at the beach, we made pie. Strawberry rhubarb pie, to be exact, which is my favorite pie. I'm also a fan of peach and cherry and pumpkin and lemon meringue. But for me, strawberry rhubarb is the epitome of pie because it's the pie that my mom used to make. I'm sure she made others. This is the one I remember. We had rhubarb in our back yard, so when it and the berries were ripe then it was pie time. She'd carefully make her crust, instructing me in proper dough making. I paid no attention - back then I couldn't be bothered with that sort of thing. She would chill and roll out the crust, cutting off the extra. I would try to sneak those pieces of raw dough, but if I could hold off then the reward was great because she would bake them with cinnamon and sugar. That was worth foregoing the raw dough for, most of the time. So so good. My grandma also made pie, but the best pie baker in the family was my great aunt Lue. She and Orval lived 3 doors down from my grandma. When we would visit her, we would always go to their apartment to say hello. Orval would find quarters for us and his teeth would click when he gave us a kiss. We'd watch Lawrence Welk or Hee Haw. Lue served us Tang and pie.
So, back to our pie at the beach. It was Gunnar's idea. We got berries at the farmer's market and found beautiful rhubarb at the little grocery store in town. He had been working at the bakery that day, learning how to make pie crust and came home all fired up to make pie. He made a tender, buttery flaky crust (I think he had not enough flour to butter, but I wasn't complaining) and we chilled it overnight. The next day we made pie. His crusts were exactly the right size for the pie plate, so there were no cinnamon sugar crusties. But the pie. Oh, the pie. Just as I remembered, but even better thanks to all that butter.
It quickly disappeared.
We came home. Again, we found lovely Hood strawberries and rhubarb at the grocery store. And again, we had the hankering for pie. This time, I made the crust (more flour to the butter) and rolled it out nice and big so we'd have those cinnamon sugar crusties. We ate them as the pie baked.
We baked it in my grandma's pie plate. We ate most of it, but saved some for her. The kids and I delivered it to her. She and I chatted, the kids went to run around at the school playground. Kit played peekaboo from the TV room to the living room. She served them root beer. I found myself watching my kids in the same spaces that I grew up visiting, and wishing that we could walk that few doors down and bring my aunt Lue some pie. Watch some TV - maybe now she'd be a Regis fan. Drink coffee instead of Tang. Debate the merits of shortening vs. butter. We'll just have to do that in my mind (I'm an all butter girl, myself).
Instead, since I bought another 1/2 flat of strawberries at the farmer's market and my neighbor gave me 5 lbs of rhubarb, I think I'll make my mom a pie this weekend and we'll eat those cinnamon sugar crusties while it bakes. Just like she used to do for me.
Someday, when my kids are grown and making pies for their kids, I hope their minds go back to our lazy June days at the beach and to making pie, because t's not just making pie. It's making memories.
