In search of story

November 1.19


Apple walnut cinnamon pie,

winter oven, my, oh, my.

Syrup’d slices, cinnamon dust

rise through nose to memory’s must:

oilclothed table, rolling pin,

floured apron, floor and chin,

pigtail peelings, glowing stove,

maybe nutmeg, maybe clove.

Coming in from bitter world,

boots well stomped and scarf unfurled,

amber warmth starts deep within

like radiator through my skin.

Kitchens of the long-ago,

swathed in early evening snow,

hug me still because I spy

apple walnut cinnamon pie.


Huzzahs and thanks to photographer S.W. Berg,

and kudos to dessert chefs at McCormick and Schmick’s, Virginia Beach, VA.

What memoried fragrance arises from this photo!

As this hectic season hurls us into next year,

I wish you, dear reader,

some sanity from a warm and spicy kitchen.




6 thoughts on “November 1.19

  1. Boy, that is one delicious looking dessert. Whew. It also made me think back to sitting up on the green kitchen counter turning the bowl of my grandmother’s old mixer while she baked up something equally delicious. I thank you for the good memories. Now, I need to go find something sweet. 🙂

  2. Ah, yes. I think I can see both that green and that bowl. Wasn’t your grandma lucky to have such a helper!

  3. Our formica was red. I didn’t think I remembered oilcloth on the table until I looked it up and saw some pictures, but I do remember pulling off well-stomped wellington boots and the sensory overload of Mama’s kitchen mid bake. Sigh.

    • I’ll see you that sigh and raise you another. Even in memory “mid-bake” is heavenly. I think red formica would be lovely, and if you remember oilcloth as well, then you have it all!

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