The greatest generation of bakers
Women with names like Edna, Esther, Velma, Maxine. These are strong women who didn’t go surfing on Pinterest for pie crust designs or post their Angel food cakes on facebook. They raised families and worked on farms and filled the picnic tables at our family reunions with steamy pots of homemade noodles and roasters full of fried chicken.
They raked hayfields and then fed the crews of men who baled the hay. They ironed tablecloths. And yes, they baked pies.
So this week when I learned my mom’s cousin passed away peacefully at home, I grieved for her four daughters who were our cousin counterparts — two sets of four girls growing up on dairy farms. We were cousins with that special connection. I grieved for the loss of another member of that great generation. And I grieved because it all made my dad’s absence feel raw once again.
I haven’t picked up a rolling pin since my dad died. I haven’t felt like putting any heart into baking. And honestly since mid December, I’ve been just hanging on every day trying not to drown in the torrential downpour of life. Following dad’s funeral there was wrist surgery for one son, moving mom from the home she’s had for 64 years and then moving another son into it. There was the pain of watching my daughter grieve the loss of her sweet old beagle companion. I comforted him as he left this world and helped dig the hole to lay him to rest. We wept hard that day — for the dog, for my daughter and for all the loss that seems so suffocating right now.
But then today the beautiful snow came and covered the world like a peaceful blanket. And I could sit in my snug, old house and admire the beauty through the beveled glass. And I could remember to be grateful for a lot — including the “treasure in heaven” that people like my dad and Edna stored up for themselves and passed along to their families. It’s hard to feel the press of life marching at a pace that feels ever faster. I’m sure our mothers felt the same when loss overcame them. And then they were probably at the door with some form of home-made comfort for those who needed the love.
That’s when I knew that a little flour, salt, sugar and cherries might do my heart good — as both comfort for me and others. So I’m calling this Sunday Night Pie “cheerful cherry.” It’s basic cherry from the typed recipe card my mom gave to me at my first bridal shower. I started with tart cherries from Michigan that have been hiding in my freezer from a summer trip up north, and mixed them with sugar and almond flavoring. The thickener is normally tapioca, but when putting this together my mind was so far away on the thoughts above, that the filling went in the pan without the tapioca. So mid baking I tried to tuck a little cornstarch in between the lattice and stir it around with the tip of a table knife. Not something you’d see Martha Stewart doing - but it seemed to work. And if it didn’t? Well then the cheerful cherries will ooze all over the plate, and it won’t be picture perfect and the crust might be soggy. But that’s life. It’s not a bowl of cherries. Sometimes it’s sour. Sometimes it’s sweet. But it’s always made better with love.