Wise Women Friday: Margaret Junkin Preston

Image by Neeta Lind via Flickr

Words of Wisdom from Virginia poet Margaret Junkin Preston (1820-1897):

But see, in our open clearings,

How golden the melons lie;

Enrich them with sweets and spices,

And give us the pumpkin-pie!

I am not by nature zealous, but there is one subject on which I feel the need to proselytize: Pie.

There are people out there who don't like pie. I know! It's shocking, but true! They call it gummy, gooey, cardboardy.

You know what I think? I think they've only had store bought pies, but calling a store bought pie a pie is like calling a paint-by-numbers a Di Vinci. Store bought pies are slugs wrapped in shoeboxes. They're stewing fruit compost trapped in congealed petroleum. They are evil. They are wrong, and they do not even deserved the moniker pie. They should be called goo blobs or treacle blats or gummy patties.

True pie -- homemade pie -- is a work of art. It is flakey, buttery crust wrapped like love around cinnamon-and-sugar-sweetened apples or creamy pumpkin or chiffony lemon or any number of wonderful fruits or custards. It is whipped cream on top, or ice cream, and maybe even a drizzle of hot caramel. It is everything you wanted your childhood to be.

So this Thanksgiving, here is what you must do: you must make a pie. You must dip your hands in flour and you must roll out your dough, and you must fill it with whatever wonderful thing you want to fill it with, and you must savor its soul-building essence as its aroma wafts from your oven. Then, and only then, will you know the peace of pie. (Alternately, you can let someone else create the pie, but it must be someone trustworthy, someone who'll do it right. You won't really experience the peace of pie, but you will know its satisfaction, and you will be happy.)

So go! Bake! May the peace of pie be with you.

Amen.