Yesterday, as I surveyed the large wooden bread board where I’d just rolled out a pie crust, it occurred to me. I could have purchased a perfectly good strawberry rhubarb pie on the way home from church instead of undergoing all this fuss. There’s a local farm stand that sells pies and apple cider doughnuts, puff pastry, apple cider, fresh veggies and honey every day of the week. Why hadn’t I simply stopped there? Now I had flour everywhere, a pile of sugar and fruit slopped bowls in the sink, and a sticky rolling pin to clean. I brought my hand up to smack my forehead then noticed it was covered with schmutz from all this pie assembling and I stopped myself just in time.
But then the over-thinking apparatus in my brain kicked in. Of course it did. I began cogitating on what it took to make this pie.
First – I had two packages of strawberries still in the freezer from picking last summer. A prime ingredient in pies, strawberry daiquiris, and jam. How much longer could I imprison them in that frigid gulag?
Second – First batch of rhubarb ready to cut. Big fat juicy stalks. After pie our next favorite thing to use the stuff for is rhubarb custard bars. Oh, man, glory in a pan. Thank you, Rhonda! Will make them soon after the pie is gobbled up.
Third – Rain. Blech. More rain and then raindrops and then worms on the patio. What’s a girl to do? Bake, of course. Warms the kitchen and smells up the house – in a wonderful mouth-watering way.
Lastly - The Great American Novel. Okay, okay. I’m stalled. Strawberry rhubarb pie making seemed so much more productive and immediately consumable. America is NOT waiting for this book. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Plus . . .
Satisfaction. Something we all need once in a while. Something we can put, “There, I did that all by myself,” to and count it worthy of our efforts. Like having your hair and nails and new spring outfit all look awesome at the same time. Or finding the perfect cheese to go with that crusty bread and a great wine. Or remembering every single word from your favorite song when you were sixteen. Or stepping on the scale after skipping lunch and . . . okay, maybe not that. Anyway.
I could have stopped at Samascott’s farm stand and bought a pie. But why would I do that when everything in my little circle of heaven had come together to make that yummy pie you see up there? There’s some left if you want to stop by later, too. I'll make coffee.
So, let me know. What satisfies your soul on any ordinary day?
Photo - Second pie of the season. First one swooped away by #1 son and not seen again.