Tomorrow we’re attending a Thanksgiving celebration hosted by DF’s son and daughter-in-law, and we’re not going empty-handed. He’ll be doing a turkey in the oven plus prime rib on the Weber, and I’m bringing three pies.

Not just any pies, mind you. These are Alaska pies, made with fillings grown less than three miles from where they’ll be consumed.

Specifically, they were grown in our own dirt. The apple pie filling was made mostly by DF over many days in August and September. He sliced the Norland apples and mixed them with sugar, cinnamon, and a dash of ginger and nutmeg, then froze the result in pie-sized portions.

Lots of pie-sized portions: We have enough filling for more than two dozen desserts. Although the trees are less than five years old, the weirdly warm summer had them producing like gangbusters.

The second pie will be raspberry and rhubarb, with a hint of cinnamon. The berries went nuts this year, too, producing nearly three dozen quarts for the freezer, a bunch eaten fresh, and still more picked by family members. (Especially DF’s granddaughters, who love eating a path through the patch.)

And the last pie will be the best pie: pumpkin. It’s one of my favorite flavors anyway, and this one is special because it was the first year we tried to grow pumpkins. Although it was a jack o’ lantern cultivar rather than a pie pumpkin, that didn’t seem to matter much. Frankly, I had my doubts when I made a test pie a couple of weeks ago, since the pulp was a bright yellow. (See the illustration above.) But apparently it’s the cinnamon, ginger and cloves that are mostly responsible for the orange/brown hue of pumpkin pie filling.

 

Another reason for the color: Since the homemade puree was a bit on the bland side (not that pumpkin is known for its strong flavor), I added a splash of molasses to liven things up. And oh, my, didn’t the molasses and ginger dance well together, especially since I used brown sugar instead of the white sugar the recipe calls for – and brown sugar is, of course, flavored with molasses.

Every bite of those pies will remind me of summer hours well-spent. We cheered on nascent pumpkins (and sighed over the ones that didn’t take), harvested fungo-bat-sized rhubarb stalks, dodged yellow jackets in the berry patch and gazed rapturously at apple trees so heavily laden that we had to rig up a cloth sling to keep one tree from breaking under the weight of all that fruit. The Norlands were visible from the living room, ruby dots among the green, green leaves.

 

Thankful for pie

 

Right now only the bottom crusts are completed. Well, ready to be completed. They were par-baked earlier this evening, then cooled and wrapped until tomorrow.

At that point I’ll stir together the flour and salt, and put this and the shortening outdoors to chill. Normally I put the mixture in the fridge, but there’s no room right now because DF got a really big turkey.

A couple of hours before I want to do the baking, I’ll take out a package of apples to begin thawing. The raspberries and rhubarb will be mixed with sugar, cinnamon and a little flour while they’re still frozen; I don’t want them to give off too much juice before it’s time to bake. The pumpkin puree is already thawed and in the fridge; it needs to drain it a bit more to get the right consistency. (Next year we’ll be more careful about that.)

I’ll have to bake in stages. If the apples thaw too much they, too, give off an excessive amount of juice, so the first top crust I roll out will go on that pie. The next crust will top the raspberry-rhubarb, and while those two bake I’ll make the pumpkin custard for the last pie, which doesn’t need a top crust.

The house will smell absolutely delicious, and I will need to exert considerable self-restraint to keep from eating a piece of each of the three. The fact that we’re taking them to a gathering will help me keep my hands to myself.

Besides, it’ll be worse the next day, when DF is stirring up gravy and carving the prime rib and turkey (taking the meat over pre-cut makes it easier on the buffet setup). At the very least I’ll be standing by with a glass of iced tea and a shaker of salt, ready to pounce on the crispy parts of the turkey skin. That, to me, is the best part of the Thanksgiving dinner.

So yes, I’m thankful not just for having enough to eat, but having a variety of delicious foods. I’m thankful for my daughter, who is blooming after a difficult divorce. I’m thankful for midlife love that grows deeper every day. I’m thankful for extended family, and great friends, and the chance to do work that helps people help themselves.

In short, I’m thankful for a life that’s richer than I ever imagined it could be. And I hope that you, dear readers, have joy in your own lives, on Thanksgiving and every day.