Recently, we bought an older home. It was owned by the same owners for almost 50 years. The couple who had raised their family there had recently passed on within months of each other. Their daughter was selling their home and we could see that it was very difficult for her. Trying to make it somewhat easier on her, I told her to please come back anytime she or her siblings wanted to see the home.
The house has an apple and a plum tree in the backyard and my family was delighted to eat the delicious fruit. After being in the home close to a year, I noticed that there were just a few apples left on the apple tree. I picked all the remaining apples and brought them inside.
The plums had multiplied and we had more than we knew what to do with. My husband came up with the idea of turning them into juice and syrup.
Staring at the apples on the counter, I wondered what to do with all of them when I suddenly had the idea to make a pie. I’m not a big pie maker and frankly I don’t love apple pie, but the thought wouldn’t leave me.
I had other things to do that day and I left the apples on the counter. The next day the thought came again and again on the third day. Finally, I gave in. I pulled a recipe from the Internet for the crust and then tried to figure out how in the world to make a filling. Opening the fridge to get some butter, I noticed the plum syrup and decided since I didn’t know what I was doing anyway, I’d experiment.
I put the apples and plum syrup in a big bowl and stirred them together before dumping them into the crust I had just made.
Covering the top of the pie with dough, I noticed I had a bit left over. I shaped the leftover dough into an apple-shaped heart and placed it carefully on top of the dough right in the center. I rolled my eyes and laughed at what I had done, wondering once again why I had made a pie that none of us would eat. Grabbing a Ziploc freezer bag, I put the entire pie inside the bag, sealed it up and placed it in the freezer.
A couple of days later my phone rang. It was the daughter who had sold us the home.
“Kate, would you mind if my daughter, my sister and I came by to see the house?”
I told her that of course we didn’t.
She informed me that they would be stopping by the graveyard first to visit their mother’s grave.
A few hours later they came. I noticed that as they walked through the house they grew up in, they became increasingly weepy. I excused myself to give them some time alone.
A little while later I returned when they were about to leave.
“I’m so sorry," the daughter told me. "It’s actually Mom’s birthday today and we didn’t realize how hard this would be.”
I smiled sympathetically and nodded. As they made their way to the door, I suddenly realized something.
Running to the freezer, I grabbed the homemade pie, remembering how the daughter had told me their mother had loved to cook and spent countless hours in that kitchen.
“Here,” I said as I handed the pie to the daughter. “This is an apple pie made with apples from the apple tree and plum syrup from the other. I had no idea why in the world I kept feeling like I should make it, but now I understand.”
I smiled at the three women.
“I think your mom wanted me to make it for you. She must have known you’d come on her birthday and you’d need it.”
As I shut the door I smiled, grateful that I had listened to a thought that told me to make a pie that was never intended for me.
read the orginal article @ www.ksl.com
Kate is a mom to three (almost four), one of ten children and writer in her spare time (which is why it takes her four years to write a book instead of four months). She loves being rejected so much that she continues writing. Currently, Kate writes for the uplifting section on KSL.com. She has written a couple of books as well as a screenplay. The screenplay won part of a contest in LA for the "Next Best Movie Idea". Currently she is turning that screenplay into a book. . . look for it in four years.
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