Let me start by saying this weekend went nothing – n o t h i n g – like I had planned it.
I was supposed to go to a Mom’s event Saturday morning, have company over Saturday evening, go to church and then go shopping Sunday. None of that happened.
We (as in the whole family) came down with a coughing bug, and basically any time I speak, think about speaking, or blink my right eye, I go into a coughing fit. It’s the absolute worst in the mornings after I’ve been laying down all night, and it takes several hours for my lungs to calm the heck down.
I decided not to freak people out with my coughing and subsequent gasping for air between bouts of imminent suffocation, so I stayed home all weekend and postponed the company visit.
It turns out it was not for naught, though. (Covert mission: bring the word “naught” back into every day speak.)
I donned my apron and got to work being the Mama On The Prairie I was born to be.
After my apple peeler disintegrated before my eyes last fall, I threw it away and never replaced it. I mention this, because it was all I could think about while I was quartering, coring, and peeling 30 apples by hand on Saturday.
Dear Santa, I would like an apple peeler…
Several years ago, I had the best apple pie I had ever flopped a lip over (Hubs just cringed right now because he HATES that phrase) and asked my friend, the awesome pie maker, for her recipe. This is now the only apple pie I make. Nothing else compares.
Those 30 apples were the last remaining from a whole harvest we did at said awesome-pie-maker’s farmstead, from which I had already made eight quarts of applesauce, started my own apple cider vinegar ferment, and fed the kids several snacks with. Naturally, I saved the best apple task for last, making delicious apple pie.
Four of them, in fact.
We froze one to have at Thanksgiving, one to have at Christmas, and gave one to our beloved neighbor across the street as a Veteran’s Day thank you. The fourth and final apple pie will be devoured shortly.
But the pie-fest didn’t stop there.
I also had three pie-pumpkins sitting on my counter, waiting to be put to good use.
My dad is the baker of my family, and I was always so impressed growing up when he made pumpkin pies from an actual pumpkin. I knew I had to tackle that domestic feat, so I could be awesome like Dad.
I tried it once, following his exact recipe, and it was not at all like Dad made. The pie was pulpy, it was far lighter than I had ever seen a pumpkin pie, I spilled pie filling all over the inside of my oven, I had to bake it two times longer than the recipe called for in order for it to be done – it was a mess.
But I didn’t give up, and after a few consults with Dad, and sticking with it, I’ve got it down. I only make pumpkin pies from actual pumpkins now. Plus, those little pumpkins are so darn cute to have sitting around on the counter.
Let’s not forget to mention every time I make pumpkin pie, I also make roasted pumpkin seeds. Those little pie pumpkins really are the gift that keeps on giving.
I haven’t made the pumpkin pies yet, but the pumpkins are cooked and waiting to be baked into pie goodness. One quick trip to the store for an ingredient I never keep on hand, and I’ll have four pumpkin pies in the oven, too.
With the exception of pumpkin pie, as a kid, I used to think pie was something only old people liked. And now… well, I guess I’m old. I love pie.
It’s been a productive weekend, despite my having to take frequent breaks to nurse this cough. It didn’t go at all like I had planned, but I’ve got a head start on my holiday baking, and was once again reminded why fall is my favorite season.
And don’t fret – recipe posts are forthcoming. You didn’t just read an entire blog post about me making amazing pies for naught.
…See what I did there?