Of Pumpkin Pies and Family Ties
A recipe for memories

Today I went to the grocery store to buy the ingredients for pumpkin pie. My dilemma was to figure out how many pies I needed for the holidays, thus avoiding multiple trips for the ingredients. After deliberation, my husband and I agreed to buy enough for four large pies.

You see, I am the family pumpkin pie maker now. It all started one day well over fifty years ago, when Mom tackled making her first pumpkin pie. Standing the aisle of the grocery store, she picked up a can of pumpkin and read the recipe on its back. Well, it turned out to be the world’s greatest recipe for making a chiffon pumpkin pie. For my Dad it was love at first bite.

He would beg Mom to fix it more often than at Thanksgiving and Christmas, to no avail. You see, it is not an easy recipe. Thus the pie became indelibly linked to this time of year. In my family no other dessert could take its place after those sidesplitting holiday meals. I think Dad would have considered its absence as the only suitable grounds for divorce.

Even after Dad’s descent into Alzheimer's, I believe the taste of turkey automatically triggered a craving for pumpkin. I know we would never have considered not having it for him, even when he could no longer ask for it. Before his death, Mom started on the same journey downwards. Thus I became the family pie maker.

After John and I started dating, I volunteered to make pumpkin pie for a Christmas dinner with his kids. Both politely took small pieces, certain they would not like it. Now they and their spouses expect two pies a season.

Don’t go looking for the recipe on the side of any cans. No pumpkin canner would scare today’s busy mothers with such an elaborate recipe. My step-daughter once decided to make one for Thanksgiving when we were out of town. Although she never cooked, I emailed her the recipe, and later asked how it went. She shook her head and said, "You lost me with separating eggs and double boilers."

A few years later, I emailed it to my daughter for a pie contest Agen had entered. He does know how to separate eggs and use a double boiler; so when I'm gone, he may become the family pie maker.

Today as I carefully folded in the orange juice soaked gelatin, I was thankful for Mom’s pumpkin pie and all the little things that tie a family together.