With our hometown's location so close to the Canadian border, there is a broader scope of people watching for the arrival of these scrumptious peaches. This year, before I had even heard the peaches had arrived, the entire shipment had disappeared. According to the locals, one pickup with a foreign license plate was seen transporting 19 crates back to Canada. To me, this is just not fair! Thankfully, my husband's cousin (who works at the grocery store) had snatched up a crate, and offered part of her box to me.
So it was, a dozen juicy peaches were stashed away in our refrigerator, while we ventured off to Alaska on vacation. . .and then to a funeral in Minnesota. . .and then to a doctor appointment and Legislative meeting in Bismarck. Needless to say, I wondered if the peaches would even be good by the time life slowed down enough to think about baking pie.
Friday was my birthday, and I decided to take the morning and invest it into making this year's pie. Out came the rolling pin, pastry board, and ingredients for making pie dough. The recipes are written across the page from one another. . .one for "Peach Pie," and the other for "Never Fail Pie Crust." Both are in my mother's handwriting, and just seeing her neat penmanship brought a smile to my face.
After preparing the pie dough, I rolled out a circle for the bottom crust. Carefully, I rolled the round piece over the rolling pin, and then transferred it onto the pie plate. As I gently eased the dough into the pan, I looked down and saw not my own hands, but those of my mother. How many times had she carefully prepared pie crusts to treat our family or friends? Countless times, for sure, and somehow in my mind's eye, her crusts always turned out so perfect. I found myself thanking God for those precious hands that did so much to shape my world.
The next step was cutting up the peaches, followed by preparing the filling mixture. Sour cream, brown sugar, a pinch of salt, and some vanilla whisked together make for a scrumptious coating to pour over the peaches. A whiff of the vanilla from the bottle, and I felt my mother's presence near!
Finally, the top crust was rolled out, cutting in the outline of a peach to allow the pie to vent while baking. Although I can make my crust look like my mom's prior to going into the oven, it seems it always "poofs up" while baking. It would be so nice if I could call her up, and ask for some pointers. Instead, I think of her fondly and wish I would have paid more attention while she was still living here on earth!
With the remaining dough and peaches, I was able to make five small pies for sharing, as well as some of the fun cinnamon crust sticks Mom always made.
Just as I was finishing up with the small pies, a familiar sound came from outside the kitchen. Someone was flying an airplane over town, and instantly my mind transferred to another pair of hands that shaped my world. Hands that flew airplanes, and drove tractors, trucks, and combines. Yes, my father's hands were most often busy outside our home, but just as much they influenced the person I came to be.
Often I ponder why it was God blessed me with such a wonderful childhood, and parents who instilled in me a faith which has carried me through the years. Perhaps I will cut me a slice of pie, and ponder on!
"Thank You, Lord, for the blessing of Godly parents
who loved me, and shaped my life into
one which centers on YOU"
