When I was first introduced to Narrative Medicine, I learned about treasure stories. Times in your life that you hold dear, touchstones to come back to over time when you feel you have lost your way. Your passion depleted, feeling as though you don’t even remember why or how you got there in the first place. Although this was mostly used for work experiences related to healthcare professional burnt out, it also applies to your life as a whole.
Truly there are not a whole lot of good memories in my early years to treasure. My parents fighting, dad leaving, then losing my dog, the house, my beloved grandfather, my parents finally divorcing and my dad moving on with his new life and love left me feeling bereft and unmoored. That said, there are a few clear, core memories of peace and joy that I can remember from a young life filled with confusion and pain.
One is a Memorial Day picnic where my mom and I shared Pringles and other food which I don’t remember on a blanket in a park within walking distance from our house. This happened before I was eight so the details are fuzzy yet the sense of peace and happiness has always stayed with me. An even younger memory is of my Aunt Cindy coming to visit us and despite her disabilities, she held me up in the air by her feet. We played airplane again and again. I can recall the shafts of light coming in through the back door and the overwhelming sense of freedom and joy. It was a beautiful feeling and a memory that I cherish.
These are all wonderful memories but the one that I savor and love most of all is the day of the perfect peach pie. Clearly, nothing is ever “perfect”; however, the time I spent with my mom making that pie was as close to it as I can recall. This is not just a treasure for me, it is priceless. A moment in time where things slowed down and it all was soaked in. Mindfulness and living in the now before I ever knew what any of that was.
It was a beautiful sunny day. We had gone to the store to buy the ingredients. The expectation of what to come made the long, hot walk more bearable but I still drank a huge glass of cold milk when we got home to quench my thirst (my friend always shudders when I tell her that but what can I say, I LOVE milk!). After we unloaded and put away all the items that needed to be refrigerated, it was time! Honestly salivate at the thought of it to this day.
My mom and I were in our small apartment kitchen with the light filtering through the thin curtains. I was closest to the sink and she was near the refrigerator as she worked on the counter to make the pie dough and then the peach filling. Truthfully, I wasn’t much help. Don’t remember what age I was but knew she wouldn’t let me use the knife to peel and cut the peaches, maybe I was ten? Regardless, I stood undaunted waiting to assist in hopes of getting to “clean up” the remains of the peach pie making.
After washing my hands, I was allowed to help knead the pie dough but not too much; don’t want to make it tough. We then made two balls of dough for the top and bottom crust. Next came the dough rolling. Can’t say that I was a stellar assistant in this but I loved the feel of the wooden rolling pin in my hands and pushing back and forth to make the circle of dough grow. It was like magic to this young girl and I found it fascinating. Putting the dough in the pie pan was strictly a mom job and I watched her with great interest. The delicate balance of getting the dough in without ripping which she did with minimal effort. The other ball remained to be rolled out after the filling was made.
To this day, I do not know what recipe she uses or what exactly goes into the pie filling. What I do know is that it has cinnamon and sugar that when combined with the juicy peaches just makes for absolute goodness. She tossed the peach slices by hand in the bowl and poured them into the pie plate covered with the bottom layer of crust. As she moved the bowl aside she finished rolling the other ball of dough to make the top crust and placed it on top of the filling. With bated breath, I watched her cut around the edge of the pie plate with a knife to even out the crust then pinched around to seal the top and bottom crusts together. A few slashes of the knife on the top crust to vent and it was popped in the oven. Now for the real fun!
May the “clean up” commence! My fingers eagerly grabbed a pie crust scrap and my mother did the same. We stood smiling at each other as we dipped the dough in the pie filling juice remaining in the bowl. As quickly as I could, I popped it in my mouth but still managed to get drippings all down my hand and on the counter. What is baking without some mess?
I can’t remember eating the pie although I am quite positive that I devoured it as quickly as I could. Sweets never lasted long in our house since they were a prized treat especially when they were home made which were few and far between. In fact, this is the only thing that I clearly remember my mom baking for us when I was a child. I am sure that isn’t true, you know how memory goes. All I do know is that she worked so hard to keep our family going. As a mother now myself, I can only imagine how exhausting her life was. That knowledge makes me value this memory and her peach pie even more today. Truly a slice of that pie was a piece of love and dough with pie drippings was the cherry on top. I will be forever grateful for that blessing and cherish it in my heart always.
Happy Mother’s Day to All. Love you Mom💜
Katrina