I’m attracted to the pie town origin story presented in From Top Of the Mountain. It seems like the town was sparked into life by the ingenuity of a few business-minded families, and that the name came into being by a curt Hellen McLaughlin telling a Clyde M. Norman to go and make his own pies instead of buying and re-selling her doughnuts at a higher price.
Now a little less than a hundred years latter the town still lures in travels with the promise of excellent pies. The phrase ‘friends and pies’ greeted us at the front door of the restaurant. I asked for coffee, which is on the house and only comes in mugs. As I stood there awkwardly sipping my coffee, an obstruction to the surge of incoming customers. A woman in her eighties invited me to sit down next to her and her husband.
A pastor in the past, he talked of God and new music, the National Guard, his daughter who lives in Israel. She was more silent but sharp, leaning into new travels as they talked about being delayed by accidents, or younger people as they played: curious by the accidents, laughing at the play, scorning the people who turned away because the restaurant was too busy. They let everyone order in front of them telling the waitress they just wanted to check-in. They tried to teach the waitress hebrew, which seems a rapport they share each time they order. Married at fourteen, they stood for a lot of things my generation shies away from, yet she rested her leg on his seat, and still asked what side he wanted with the burger they were sharing…Right now they live next to a hiking trail, and take in tired travelers rather like they took in me.