This sounds like the title for a tale of mystery. There may be some mysterious elements. For years, it was the greatest mystery to me. How did the pieces of my life fit together? My life felt like a jig saw puzzle and I couldn't put enough of the pieces together to make a picture. What connected the odd and seemingly disparate episodes? Today, as I enjoyed a much needed Just 10 walk, I knew how to help explain the mystery. The solution can be found in a singular circular dish of summer-flavored perfection, my mom's pear pie.
I can never remember a childhood summer that wasn't punctuated by this pear pie. I often would ask for it instead of cake for my birthday. I'd head off to the orchard on top of the hill, braving the summer heat and the yellowjackets that were busy feasting on the fruit, so I could harvest the best pears. Bartlett pears, a perfect golden yellow, warmed by the sun, so ripe that all I had to do was cup my ready hands beneath them and with a gentle nudge, they would drop like blessings from above. At home, mom would peel the pears, the paring knife gliding through the ripe fruit with such ease and ability. I would stand to watch the performance as she readied the pears to meet their destiny, the pear pie. These pears, this pie possessed a certain magic. Even now, I can not remember this delicious treat without seeing a certain slant of summer light, without smelling the smoke of a distant field burn fire, or without hearing the slam of the back porch screen door.
These golden memories often stand in sharp contrast with memories much less golden, memories that sometimes cut like a knife, awkward, frenzied slashes that left giant holes in the fabric of my life. For years, the many parts of my life were broken pieces. I had no glue, no way to put them back together. I didn't know how they fit and the biggest part of me didn't want to solve the mystery. I wanted to hold on to the jagged, broken pieces. I wasn't ready to let go. I wasn't prepared to see. Being broken felt like all I had. I was afraid to be whole.
During these years, I'd also lost the recipe to the pear pie. It seems that I could not complete the circle without it. Making this pear pie did lie in the future. Time began to reveal what had been so mysterious. I was the fruit of the past. Everything contributed something toward my growth, toward what I had become. Years of blight and drought had been replaced by life nurturing years. They did not cancel out the bad years. They did leave me with an appreciation for the good. I'd called my mom for the recipe again. I was making something whole out of the pieces.
I have learned that everyone I meet carries broken pieces of themselves inside. Sometimes, they are eager to share these pieces. Other times, they do everything they can to hide them. Something whole is forming out of all the elements, despite all our fears. We are broken and whole at the same time. I have come to the table and eaten pear pie again and again. I may make another tomorrow. Pear Pie is one of life's blessings. Enjoy it with me.
Here the address to the page on my cookbook that contains this recipe. (You'll have to cut and paste if you want to get to it. The link function is not working.) It's very easy. The crust can often be too soggy and I sometimes play with the proportions of the ingredients. Yet, it always tastes good despite any flaws.
http://carolscookbook.blogspot.com/2009/09/moms-pear-pie.html
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