The Gospel of Pie comes to the Farm

Pie?

To be honest, I’ve never been a huge fan. Most of them are unremarkable, with soggy, store-bought crusts, or fillings so sweet as to curl your teeth.

But my friend, the “other Beth” or “Pie Beth” as she is often known, is well, into pie, to put it mildly. She’s written several books on the topic—books I liked much more than the dessert.

Yes, Beth is from Iowa. But she also lived in the American Gothic house, where she sold, you guessed it, pie!

And she recently made a movie, Pieowa, all about how pie is significant to Iowa in countless ways. It’s a fun film, but in typical “Farm Beth” style, I watched and thought—“We can do that!”

So we did.

What we did was copy other people featured in the film who made xx number of pies, and handed them out to those who “needed” them.

Team Apple Pie

We had the space, first and foremost. Our renovated barn—the place we hold cooking classes and retreats—has plenty of room to spread out to peel, chop, mix and roll.

We had the means. Friends nearby brought us a mixed bushel of winesap and golden delicious apples from their orchard, others donated flour and butter, and we bought the rest.

And we had the people. I posted and texted about it, gathering up seven of us—including the infamous Pie Beth—last Saturday in our barn.

The Infamous Pie Queen

Luckily, John is a trained chef and baker, and set to work making the dough. As that rested, we all peeled and chopped, apple after apple after apple. A team set to work rolling out dough, another pressed it into our tins, and Beth showed me how to dust the apples with cinnamon, sugar, a little salt and flour. We scooped the filling into the prepared pans, topped it with dough and stuck them in the oven.

It took a while, I won’t lie. But none of it was hard, and it was a pleasure to peel and chop with an interesting crowd of people talking about art, food, families, and God knows what else. Soon, the barn was full of the dizzying smell of apple pie, a sort of primal odor that I am sure releases oxytocin or some suchlike hormone of warm fuzzies.

Beth and John prep pie dough

We didn’t eat pie. Which seems unfair looking back at it. But come Monday, I took 15 of them to our local high school for the special ed class. It was enough for both students and teachers to take one home, although I was told some of them couldn’t wait for the school day to be finished.

Then that evening, John and I and our local Mayor drove house to house to deliver the next nine pies. The first stop? A woman whose baby is still in the NICU. She looked at us in disbelief when we told her we had arrived simply to give her pie (and some ground beef from the farm, too.) “I’ve had a terrible day, and really needed this,” she told us as she hugged and hugged the Mayor and us, tears running down her face.

We visited families and single moms, a man who had just lost his wife to Alzheimers and a 90-year-old woman with a torn Achilles tendon. We even brought one to a man we had had a negative encounter with during the last election cycle while knocking on doors, but even he was happy to get a feel-good pie.

The pies ready to go.

Pies might not be my favorite food, and baking them might take time and energy, but none of that matters. This Thanksgiving, it felt like an honor to hand out something that made people smile, cry even, and to have positive encounters with strangers. Thanks to them all for accepting our pies, and to Beth Howard, for spreading the gospel of PIE.

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Wondering about other perfect gifts this holiday season?

How about beef!! You can get a beef bundle here, or a gift certificate--good for any Whippoorwill product, class or farm stay--here.