When July came into view, it occurred to me that pies naturally flow from the season of summer, with its many ripening fruits, and picnics. I don’t recall ever eating pie at a picnic (unless it was a savory pie such as a pastie), but surely I’ve seen a picture in a book of such a spread…? It wasn’t from Harold and the Purple Crayon, I know that, but his is the only pie picnic I can discover at the moment.

Well, that’s how my mind ran, setting off from summertime, and how it began to spin this thread that resulted in me baking a pie last week. I didn’t use fresh fruit, but rather frozen berries, because I ended up combining it with the tradition of always baking a berry pie for my late husband’s birthday, when he was still around to eat them, and several times since.

And I didn’t take it outdoors for a picnic, but ate it with my friends Mr. and Mrs. Bread, who had helped celebrate Mr. Glad’s last birthday on this earth exactly ten years ago. That was the sweetest part. And the crust of my pie didn’t flop!