Three apple trees.
Due date approaching.
Branches loaded with fruit,
over-ripe ones on ground
sickly sweet with buzzing bees.
Fresh picked apples brought inside,
peeled carefully, cut in halves,
sliced after cores are tossed.
Seasoned with cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg
they’re left to sit, making their own juice.
I move the rolling pin over the dough,
stretching it carefully into shape, leaning in
as close to counter as my swollen belly allows.
And then I feel it. Shirt lifted, I look…..
our soon-to-be little one is rolling too.
Crusts placed gingerly in aluminum pie pans
spicy scented apple mixture poured into tins.
Butter pads scattered on top, then top crust placed.
Crimping dough I smile, remembering.
Yesterday I folded sweet little undershirts,
cloth diapers, and placed them just so
on shelf in second-hand bassinette.
Pies made, into the freezer they go.
All the preparations done, we wait.
Iowa’s winter won’t seem so harsh this year.
We’ll have that heavenly apple aroma
as one of our pies bake,
and we’ll be holding a tiny baby boy or girl
ever so closely in our arms.
Immediately our apple trees came to mind from when we lived in rural Iowa. And then memories came flooding back. These were the days when we went to the dr. to find out if we were pregnant. And the only gender reveal was when the baby was born. Our daughter was born after I’d frozen our apple pies for the winter – she’s now 46!
lillian the home poet 
We have apple trees in our garden – sadly they are not sweet and I don’t know what type they are. The bees love them, and so do various animals that live in our garden. I’m so pleased you shared your sweet memories, Lill – as you know I love autobiographical poems – and I would love to try one of your apple pies! Sadly, I won’t be able to visit the US due to my stupid hip and knee, not forgetting the asthma. I’ll imagine Boston and going to Cheers for a drink with you and George. 😊
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The integration of the baby is precious. ❤
I miss folding and using cloth diapers. What a treasured season of life.
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I love how you mixed the memories here… to have an apple tree usually means that you end up with more than you can handle… but how lovely it must have been to have those apple pies when winter came.
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“Fresh picked apples brought inside,
peeled carefully, cut in halves,
sliced after cores are tossed.
Seasoned with cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg
they’re left to sit, making their own juice.
I move the rolling pin over the dough,
stretching it carefully into shape, leaning in
as close to counter as my swollen belly allows.
And then I feel it. Shirt lifted, I look…..
our soon-to-be little one is rolling too.”
This part in particular really moved me! A most beautiful, palpable and poignant share, Lillian 💝💝
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I love the delicate love folded into this, between all that spice and fruit. Wonderful, Lillian.
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This was sweet, and all the details brought up such a mental picture. I like how you intertwined the apple pie making with the thoughts of baby. (I am close to your daughter’s age it seems, plus three years.) 🙂
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Thank you for the personal family share Lillian. Freshly made apple pies with: Seasoned with cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg, are heavenly treats. Love how the apple making activity is tied up with your family history tree as well.
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I was brought back to my childhood, watching my mother peel, slice, spice, roll and bake. Lovely memories, you have evoked, Lillian.
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That was a lovely share and I could see you making these pies. Nice synchronicity between the apples and life.
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I love how your infant-to-be was lovingly made and how they roll with you as you lovingly prepare a pie to welcome her to the world with the best aromas.
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What a beautiful and heartwarming memory Lillian! I especially love these lines:
‘And then I feel it. Shirt lifted, I look…..
our soon-to-be little one is rolling too.’
That’s an indescribable feeling 🙂
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broght back memories of baking apple pie with my two children back when they were children. loved the family conection.
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Motherhood and apple pie – quite literally! I love the conflation of pastry and laundry – the creation of a home. It’s a lovely poem.
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Beautiful. And now I’m hungry.
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Love the process that flowed from the tree to your house to your heart. The promise of another generation made this sweeter, Lillian.
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Beautiful narrative and sentiment. I could smell all the delicious smells in your kitchen! 🙂
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What a lovely and unexpected end to your delicious poetry …. I could visualize you in the kitchen laboring away. Cheers.
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Love the extension of the apple’s raw goodness to its goodness of conversion to the apple pie taken at other times. Wonderful write Lillian!
Hank
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I love the comparison of a waiting baby, and a baking pie!
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