I baked an apple pie today to donate to a community auction. I arrived with my pie and laid it with 40 or so other beautiful pies of a wide variety. I had no trouble figuring out where the pie table was because there were women gathered looking over the pies with a proud and critical eye. Pies are serious business!
Every time I bake pies I am transported in time to my mother's kitchen, my grandmother's kitchen, my aunt's kitchen, our neighbor's kitchen. Suddenly I am a child watching and helping in one of those farm wives' domains where I spent my early years. Tying on an apron does it to me as well. Hanging out laundry, canning fruit, collecting and drying herbs. I hear echoes, a whisper in my ear. A brief glimpse from the corner of my eye There is something in the act that is a particular kind of wisdom, a ritual performed over and over by women through the ages, their sure hands rolling and pinching and slicing.
I think about all those women whose creativity was limited to their daily routine. They are there beside me and behind me. Once again I am reminded that I am not separate, but rather a continuation and expression of all sisters who have come before.
Update:
I learned today that there were a total of 51 homemade pies donated to the fund raiser. The pie auction brought in well over $2000 for our community center. I do love our small town.
