As those who read my blog will know, I have a very particular attachment to blueberry pie, and every summer, some time during blueberry season, I go to the local farmers market, buy my blueberries, and I bake this particular pie (a layer of whipped cream under a layer of berries)--an offering to the literary muse as well as an offering of gratitude for (and an affirmation of) the friendship I formed with writer Patry Francis, some years ago, in a time before time, via a wonderful no-longer-existing website and on-line forum called Readerville.
Every year, I am very attentive to the making of the pie--how it feels and how I feel and what I can learn from it, about inspiration and concentration and stress and uncertainty--all ingredients in the writing process. This year, to add a new level of immersion, I followed the recipe instructions to look the berries over--discarding leaves and stems and the little green unripe ones and overripe squished ones. I usually conduct this step in the most cursory way, but this year, I looked deeply into the colander, taking the time to sort thoroughly and carefully. How and why this may apply to my current writing project, I cannot say. I only know that I felt compelled to complete this step and that I enjoyed it. Then, as I went, I took a picture of each additional step, emailing it to Patry as I went, thus constructing a photo essay of pie making. I had mixed up the crust (a pate brisee), rolled it out, and frozen it the week before, so forgive me for not including those steps in the essay.
1. The crust lined with foil and filled with rice, ready for the first baking.