Berries and Cream

 As a little girl, I would sit on the counter and watch my dad when he made pies.

I remember the swishing of the knives (back in the day before the pastry cutter), blending the shortening into the flour 'til it was just right.

I remember stealing the scraps and tasting the just-barely-salty lardy flavor in my mouth.

And man...that crust is to die for.

I had friends over for dinner recently and knew, a couple weeks before, that I was going to make berry pie.

And it was one of those things that I thought about
for all those two weeks leading up to it.

Mmmm.

They came on a Saturday evening, and the night before, in the quiet, I mixed sugar and tapioca and berries.

I made pie crust, all the while listening to an interview that my father did in 2010.

I heard him laughing, talking, telling stories.

The kitchen was quiet, just me and him and this familiar thing since childhood.

It was perfect.

And really, all I have to say today is that there are few things as delish or as comforting to body and soul as a slice of berry pie with cream.

Amen.

And amen.