Each year, the second Monday of October, we celebrate Thanksgiving Day. A counterpart celebration to a Thursday in late November for our neighours South of the 49th parallel. A time for gratitude and family, and to switch to colder weather clothing. Our seasons are more pronounced here in the prairie provinces. Especially Summer and Winter. Some years it feels as though we glaze past Spring and Fall in far too big a hurry. Our days are already noticeably shorter! Beautiful autumnal foliage abounds, brought on by dropping temperatures and a few brief dalliances with snow. Warm toned leaves holding on for dear life as brisk winds sweep over our landscapes.
Yes, it’s sweater season. Add a toque. A scarf. Maybe even wool socks. Boots.
But we don’t mind, us hearty Canucks are happy for anything above -40°C! Our thankfulness and appreciation worn on our shirtsleeves this time of year, as we celebrated our Thanksgiving this last weekend.
This is a time for family, reflection, appreciation and great food.
When we gather for a family meal, it is a feast! Generations of stuffing and gravy making skills have culminated in our kin. We produce fantastic fares for the holidays. Tips and tricks passed on through the lineage, create pleasing experiences for the eye, palate and stomach. While we tend to stick to the tried and true, every once in a while a new recipe joins the fold.
I could go on and on about my pride in family and family gatherings. I love them so dearly. But today I’m stuck on one aspect of the get-together: dessert!
Talk about blessings, I was born into a long line of very gifted women in the kitchen.
Pies are the Thanksgiving dessert of choice in our clan. All sorts of fruit pies, made from scratch, with love. My earliest pie memories; Grandma Nellie made the best apple pies. For many years, Mom took on the endeavour. She claims that she never cared for making pies. But obviously enough to make them great. Her lemon meringue pie cannot be beat!
I believe I was about 12 years old when I learned to bake pies. I quickly garnered it’s much more involved than muffins, breads or cakes; there is an art to it. And for some reason, just like my Mom, to this day, I’ve never baked just one. If I’m committing to bake a pie, a minimum of 6 are created. I laugh to myself, while skimming a magazine or Pinterest, when I encounter a recipe for a single piecrust, I immediately dismiss it. If the first ingredient listed doesn’t ask for 4 or more cups of flour, this recipe is not for me. It simply seems disrespectful to the craft!
I’ve made my fair share of pies over the years.
For family meals, special events, and just because. I take great joy in the process and the end products. As a young girl, Brenna took to these pastries! A natural, if not a little messy, in the kitchen. After a few years of refining her skills, I think she was about 14 when she made them the first time for the family Thanksgiving meal. They were amazing! Pies quickly became her specialty. She soon tweaked and reinvented and expanded her repertoire. We gladly sampled her fares.
This year, while Brenna remains clear across the country. Her cousin Kenny stepped up to the task! True to teenager form, she even experimented with a new found piecrust recipe! Dangerous territory. The results were tantalizing. Sitting there that evening, slicing through the flaky layers on my way through a gorgeous slice of peach pie. I knew exactly what I was most thankful for. Each beautiful bakers’ rendition of a classic recipe. Pie. Good old fashioned, home made pie, created and eaten with love. Pie. Tradition.
I had an amazing childhood best friend! Our Dads were brothers, we, first cousins. Eight months apart in age. I got steamed when adults mentioned that my younger brother and her were the same age. My egocentric wishes to share birth years, were based in love. A very caring companion, we shared many experiences.
Don’t worry, we’re great neighbours, and she can take them back any time she likes. Also, I daresay she has too many flowers! Thankful for my impulse purchase at the grocers a few days before. I had grabbed a bundle of greenery to mix with some homegrown sunflowers. As I walked down the driveway to pick up a piece of litter. I snatched up a bundle of Goldenrod, growing wild in the pasture. Another moment of impulse, maybe this is becoming a problem. Goldenrod, weed or wildflower, you choose. I know the pollinators love them and the cows do not. Pretty sure Dad considers them a weed. Would anyone notice them in the mix? I took them inside, trimmed them up.
