When I was younger... a lot younger I would go to Michigan often to visit my grandparents and I was lucky enough to know my great-grandma, Ester Lower. Every year at Thanksgiving time my great-grandma would make goodies and Lemon Meringue pie, the family favorite.
My grandparents lived right next door to my great-grandma so it was fun for my sister and I to have two big yards to play in. I remember waking up one Thanksgiving morning and making my way over to great-grandma's house. I must have been 3 or 4 because I was wearing blue footy pajamas with hearts on it. I remember running really fast because there was snow on the ground. Instead of running through the yards like we always did I ran down the drive way, along the sidewalk and up great-grandma's long drive way so I didn't get my feet all wet running through the snow.
Up at the door great-grandma was already up and ready to start cooking. And the smell of all things yummy was in the air. Of course I was there to help, and as she measured things out I was the taste tester and spoon holder. Finally the cookies were in and it was time for the pie. I was there to put the shorting into the bowl and the flour. Great-grandma cut everything in and I got to help roll out the crust. And then.... the call. People in the other house figured that I was gone and called to make sure I ok. Great-grandma set me back over to the other house with a cookie in hand and a promise not to start the meringue part until I came back.
After breakfast and getting dressed I made my way back to finish up. As promised she waited and we mixed up the egg whites. All the while laughing and talking, having deep conversations about the squirrels running through the yard and the winter birds in the trees.
It's usually not until you get older when you realized how important those moments are. I feel blessed to be able to know her and know of her life.
The pie pan that I made my pie in was hers... the crust recipe is hers, and I hope the magic that she held while making her pies is something I can learn. And one day my crust will be pretty like hers always was.
2 comments:
It has taken me 30 years to make a pretty crust. Okay, it hasn't taken that long. Probably only 20... :)
What a sweet story! No pun intended.
That's precisely why I've already started trying to teach Sissy how to cook. More than teaching her a skill, I want to make that memory.
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