Posted by on Oct 2, 2011 in Photographs, Sacred Foods | 0 comments

The heady scent of cinnamon and warm apples fills her kitchen as her swollen legs carry her crooked body to the wood cook stove. Her stained and ragged pot holders, worn thin from years of use, cover her twisted fingers as she reaches for the iron handle of the oven. A wave of heat bursts forth from the hot chamber forcing her to look away for just a moment.

For the first time this autumn in her annual ritual, she reaches in with her protected hands and pulls out a pie plate mounded high with golden crust and caramel colored bubbles. She cautiously makes her way to the long farm table, silently praying for stability with each step, and places the treasured treat on a wooden cutting board.

From around the crowded table, come the deep sighs and soft smiles of her family. Each member eyes the precious masterpiece before them, fresh apple pie, the taste that heralds the return of New England’s cool air and colored leaves.

Her eyes well with tears as her oldest child unties her threadbare apron then carefully removes the pie server from her hand, kisses her cheek, and helps her beloved mother to sit. The task is complete. What may be her last baked creation is served and tasted in heaping spoonfuls. Soon the joyful humming sounds from the full mouths of babes will fill the air, melding finally with cinnamon, sugar and autumn’s crispest apples.

 ~Tam Veilleux



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