Leaping in Mom Parker’s Rock Garden — Blueberry Pie for Dessert
Mom Parker lived in a farmhouse from a time gone by, another great home from my childhood. Her home was welcoming and spotless and she would appear apron-clad, calm, and ever prepared when we arrived at her door. My brothers and I would greet her and then immediately raid her old fashioned three-tiered candy jar which we knew she filled minutes before our arrival. Even the licorice jelly rings did not deter our enthusiasm for the candy jar as we learned to love licorice’s salty sweetness while attending hockey games with our Dad who always had black licorice in his coat pockets. To this day, I associate black licorice with the sounds of skates scraping and the chattering of my teeth.
Once the candy jar was empty, we set out to explore until we were summoned for dinner. Mom Parker’s rock gardens were always beckoning to me. I would leap from rock to rock and balance and wonder. The flowers were majestic and served no purpose, as far as I could tell, except beauty. Recalling this thought now, I realize I am both right and wrong. The rock gardens must have been a form of solace and salvation from the daily difficulties of living on a working family farm, but surely, they had purpose too with all the pollinators their abundant flowers attracted. I remember friendly bees and delightful butterflies and birdsong. I can close my eyes now and feel myself leaping from rock to rock, I do not worry about falling, my footing is sure, I have the undaunted energy and boldness of youth pulsing through me.
Eventually we would be called inside for a meal lovingly prepared just for us. As always, I remember the dessert best: Mom Parker’s Blueberry Pie. It was deep dish style studded with tiny wild blueberries encased in a buttery crust. I always said yes to A La Mode, the golden vanilla ice cream sealing the deliciousness. The pie was just right: not too sweet, the blueberries a bit tart and perfectly juicy, bursting delightfully in my mouth.
Many years later our family home sat on an acre of land, much of it hilly and rocky. I had my own rock gardens then and I planted bee balm, butterfly bush, fire poker, cone flowers and more. We were blessed with butterflies and bees and often hummingbirds so remarkable in their tiny industriousness. Our children delighted in the great outdoors of their very own yard. We lived near an amazing family farm where we became regular customers: a four-season family picking pumpkins in the fall, cutting a tree for Christmas, picking strawberries in June, and blueberries in July. Eventually we had established flower gardens and a grand vegetable garden of our own. We often served beautiful pies made from scratch, blueberry the favorite of our eldest son. It was even a recurring, if non-traditional dessert, at Thanksgiving made with berries picked and frozen in July, savored in Thanksgiving pie.
