Calf Tales ... Rural Life in Arkansas

When I was a new young bride preparing for my first potluck at our church my husband, wanting to save me from the possibility of any embarrassment, informed me that “everything at Zion potlucks are made from scratch”.  So, I made my first pie, coconut cream.  I had been allowed to help in the kitchen a very small amount growing up, probably because my hands always looked like I was an auto mechanic, (hey, I’m a farm girl).  I made the entire pie from scratch.  I was confident from all the bowl and spatula licking I did that people would beg me to join the Women’s Auxiliary and chair the cookbook committee.

I kept a keen eye on that pie at the potluck.  “Lots of people are getting my pie” I whispered to my husband.  After the plates full of main course food were emptied I held my breath waiting for people to heap praise on me for my pie.  To my horror, I saw people eating the meringue, and coconut cream but they were leaving the entire crust on the plate, like a bunch of two-year-olds.  “Honey, what’s the deal? No one is eating my crust!” I whispered.  He said, “I’m sorry but this crust is so hard I could use it to patch concrete”.  From that day forward my husband makes the pie crusts and I make the rest, we’re a team, it’s a good system.