Sad Pie

The following was written by Paula Mabry, editor of Our Town Monthly, where Timm did a lot of freelance photo work over the years. It was published in their May 2008 issue.

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I was probably 10 years old before I knew my mother could bake a pie. And not just any pie, a terrific pie.

Her amazing talent was revealed only because Big Shoe (read volunteer grandpa) was coming to visit. Little Shoe had passed away the year before, and Mr. Shoemaker was traveling out west to visit family - the blood kind, and us, the adopted kind.

Fat lemons so fresh I can still smell them were lined up on the table. My job was to grate and squeeze. It seemed interminable. But then I hung around the kitchen as Mom rolled the crust and stirred the filling over the stove. Baking took forever. Oh, and the waiting - waiting until we were all together for presentation of the pie!

The result was a shared moment of sweet and tart, dense and light, flakey and smooth all in the same mouthful. Lemon meringue: the taste of a summer visit.

With the secret out, Mom went on to make apple for autumn gatherings and chocolat cream for the holidays. The making of pie meant something special was happening: we were going to see someone we loved.

In the years that followed, Big Shoe passed away, the family drifted. Elders started watching their cholesterol. Mom's pies became more the subject of legend than of memory. And there was no replacement. No restaurant pie was ever tart enough, no storebought pie as satisfying.

These days I find there's a new pie being served up: a filling of memories and kindnesses, tinged with fleeting time and the longing for something or someone no longer there. It's sweet and tart, dense and light flakey and smooth, all at the same time.

Sad pie.

Our dear friend and photographer Timm O'Cobhthaigh died of a heart attack April 18. He was 44. Wish he was here to concoct a plan or describe an adventure over another cup of coffee. Ever thoughtful, ever full of ideas. His loving spirit and camera captured many moments around these parts. We share a slice of his work in this issue. He baked a fine pie.

We miss you, Timm.