I wrote this for a class I’m taking, and decided to post it here.

My mother didn’t cook often, throughout my childhood. It’s not that she didn’t like cooking, she just didn’t think she was very good. She was never the best cook in the house, because I grew up in a multigenerational household. My grandmother was normally the cook, because she was the best at it, she enjoyed it, and both my parents worked full-time, not getting home until after dinner would already need to start being prepared. The one thing she was the best at, however, was preparing the pie crust for pie on Thanksgiving. 

Every Thanksgiving, my family members always say “There is no such thing as enough pie.” My family’s pie recipe was one of the first things I learned to cook. When I first started to cook, my grandmother and mother thought it was best to teach me in steps. That is how they learned everything, and that is how they thought I should learn. My grandmother was a teacher, after all. Before I was born, and while I was still young, my mom would make the crust for our Thanksgiving pie, my grandmother would roll it out, and my great grandma was in charge of the filling. After my great-grandmother passed, my grandmother would roll out the crust and make the filling. Pie on Thanksgiving was always a group effort. 

The very first time I learned our family recipe for pie crust, I was four years old. I was messy and sloppy when it came to mixing. Flour everywhere, in my hair, and on my face, but it was a start. As I got older, I learned more and more when it came to making the pies. By the age of nine, I could make the whole pie by myself. At age 12, I made one myself because my grandmother was sick and my mom was out of town. 

The norm was my mom made the crust, and I rolled it out and made the filling, effectively taking over my grandma’s role. I remember standing in the kitchen every year, my mom to my right, mixing in a bowl what would become pie crust. I was next to her, cutting apples, or mixing pumpkin, eggs, and oil. The smell of cinnamon, and sweetness hung in the air. It was heavy with anticipation, as every family member knew what we were making. 

My grandpa would come into the kitchen saying “This one’s just for me, right?”

My brother would come up from his room, see the fresh pie, and ask “Can I have just one slice right now?” 

“No, it’s not time to have a slice right now, because it’s not Thanksgiving right now. Thanksgiving is tomorrow,” I would say back. 

My mom, wearing a blue long sleeve shirt and a black pants, to fight the cold, made the crust, and patiently waited for me to begin rolling out the crust. That was her favorite part, waiting for me to roll the crust out so she could steal and eat the extra. There was never enough, in her mind. 

“Stay out of my crust,” I would say, smiling.

“No, I made it, and there’s enough extra for you, just never enough for me to eat,” she would laugh. 

That was the only thing my mother ever took. Everything else, she gave. She gave her time, her effort, her love, and her life. She spent my younger years working to provide for my brother and I. She would be up early, dropping my brother and I off at my grandparents. She would leave, wearing her dark blue jeans and big puffer jacket out into the cold morning. Then, when my sister was young and my grandma got sick, she spent her time caring for us. We weren’t rich, but she always made sure I had a place to go, made sure that I was warm and fed, and made sure that I was happy. 

My mom’s laugh was contagious, and while she didn’t like school, she was extremely smart. She taught me how to treat others right and everything I know about technology. She gave me a love for scrapbooking and card-making, and a curiosity to question everything, only believe what I see with my own eyes. She showed me what it means to be loved by someone, both with her love for me and when it comes to relationships. She taught me how to let go of something or someone when the time had come. The only person I was not prepared to let go of, however, was her. 

Losing my mom at 22 years old was not in my plans. Losing someone you love as deeply as I loved her is typically never in someone’s plans. Her illness came fast, and as an extreme surprise. Most 46-year-olds aren’t at risk for getting stage four metastatic cancer and losing their lives because of it. My mom fought hard for five months, but in the end, there was too much damage, and the disease had been caught too late. 

My mother died at a young age. People often say to me “she was so young” but they also say “she still lived a full life, and she loved you kids.” They are partially right, as she did love my siblings and I with all her being. But she did not live a full life. She lived a great life, absolutely. But a full life? I have decided that anyone who has said that to me or any of my family members, did not really know her a lot. When she was diagnosed, she had trips planned, family outings written in her planner. She had my sister’s county fair dates written out, and she had my college graduation written in big bold letters in June of 2024. When she died, she had unfinished scrapbooking pages. That was one thing she never did, was leave anything unfinished, especially scrapbooking pages. She lived a great life, but she also left the Earth in the middle of things. She wasn’t done, and that is clear to everyone who truly knew her. She loved a particular song, as I was growing up, and would listen to it often. The song mentioned that what you take with you when you leave the Earth is not important. The truly important things are what you leave behind you. She left behind three capable, loving, and curious children. I wake up everyday wanting to become more and more like the kind, smart, and loving person that she was before she passed. 

She taught me so many things, and her life ended abruptly, in the middle. But I have my family’s pie recipe. Making this pie for my family this Thanksgiving was very different. I did not have the loud Television in the next room. My grandpa, mom, grandma, dad, and uncles were not yelling at the TV, engrossed in whatever football game was on. I did not call my mom into the kitchen when it was time to start making the crust. The kitchen was quiet, and it was me, on my own. When I’m missing my mom, I make a pie, and I am so thankful for the memories she left behind when she left this world. Her sneaking in behind me as I’m rolling out the pie crust, and eating the scraps, smiling as I make it.  

Homemade Apple Pie

Flaky, sweet, cinnamon filled apple pie, like a warm hug from home.

For the bottom crust: 

2 cups all purpose flour

⅔ cup vegetable oil

⅓ cup milk

For the pie filling: 

4-5 large apples (I like Granny Smith, use whatever is preferred)

1 cup all purpose flour

1 cup granulated sugar

⅛ cup brown sugar

2 tablespoons cinnamon

¼ cup lemon juice

½ cup butter

For the top crust: 

2 cups all purpose flour

⅔ cup vegetable oil

⅓ cup milk

1 teaspoon granulated sugar, for sprinkling

½ teaspoon cinnamon

Instructions: 

Step 1: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. 

Step 2: Get your pie pan ready. I use a nonstick one, but if you don’t have one, make sure to spray the bottom and sides of the pan with nonstick cooking spray. 

Step 3: Next, in a medium bowl, combine the flour, vegetable oil and milk and mix with a fork until combined. Set aside.

Step 4: Prep the apples. Cut your apples into bite sized pieces. Then, in a large bowl, combine the apples, flour, sugars, cinnamon, and lemon juice. Set aside to allow the flavors to merry while you prepare the bottom crust. 

Step 5: Prep the bottom crust. Take one piece of wax paper, lay it down on your work surface, and pour the crust onto it. Then, place a second piece of wax paper onto and use a rolling pin to roll out the crust. The crust should be about ⅛ of an inch thick. Peel the top piece of wax paper off. Carefully lift the crust using the piece of bottom wax paper, and flip onto your prepared pie pan. Set your wax paper aside, as you will need it again. Tip: If the crust rips or breaks, you can use the excess crust hanging off the sides of your pan to fix any spots. 

Step 6: Pour your apple mixture into the pie pan on top of the crust you just laid down. Then take your stick of butter (½ cup) and cut it into small pieces. Place it spread out on top of the apple mixture. This will help the top crust become nice and flaky. 

Step 7: Follow the same directions in step 3 to start the top crust. 

Step 8: Follow the same directions in step 5 to prepare the top crust. After peeling off the top wax paper and before flipping the crust onto the top of the pie, cut five slits in the top pie crust. These are the vents and are used to help release air for proper baking. 

Step 9: Sprinkle sugar and cinnamon on the top crust after it has been flipped on top of the pie. 

Step 10: Take pie to the microwave and place on high for seven minutes. This helps speed up the baking process and makes sure that the crust and filling cook at the same rate. 

Step 11: Bake in your 350 degree F oven for 30-35 minutes, until the top crust is golden brown. Step 12: Take out of the oven and allow it to cool slightly. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream or cool with homemade whipped cream.