A gray, gusty, golden-leafed afternoon. When lunch was done, I drove the short drive to family land on O'Farrell Road. I was on a mission. I had pie on my mind.
Surely I've mentioned it before - how I love picking up pecans, coming home to roll out pie crust, drizzling warm chocolate and a bit of cream over my fresh-from-the-oven pecan pie. Only I'm running out of pecans from my Freeman House stash. Time to hunt for more.
Pecan picking isn't as easy as it sounds. For one, pecans are clever. They wear these tan-and-brown jackets that perfectly camouflage them among the damp earth and crunchy leaves. But look carefully enough and you'll find them. You'll go cross-eyed several times in the process, but you'll find them.
I started my hunt near the property fence under a canopy of pecan and cedar trees. Traces of my Great Grandfather remain stamped here at his old homestead. A barbed wire-scarred tree tells of a long-gone fence. The shed in the background reminds me of garden and farm implements, fishing lures, seedlings. I started here, among my memories, and began filling my cotton bag with pecans. Within an hour I was done. Seems the squirrels and worms had first hunt.
As did Pecan. He's one of the miniature ponies now living on Henry and Belle's farm. He plodded alongside me as I picked. He caught me up on the goings-on at the farm. It was a good talk.
I'm off to make pie now. Time to narrow down this year's Thanksgiving pie offerings. Besides the stand-bys (Bourbon Pecan, Chocolate Creme, and Pumpkin), I'm considering two others: Joy's Buttermilk Pie and Lisa's (Sweet) Pinto Bean Pie.
Glad I still have a week or two to think on it....