Apple Pie Days

Today is the quintessential autumn day: sunny skies, wispy clouds, bright green grass, the slight chill in the air.  Perfect.  I love days like this.  They make me want to drink warm mulled cider, and roast marshmallows, and bake apple pies. I haven't baked an apple pie in ages.  I'm not particularly great at it, mostly because I have yet to conquer the art of the perfect pie crust.  I've spent years trying to succeed to no avail, so now I *gasp* purchase them pre-made.  Please don't hold it against me.  I just want my pies to be edible.

My grandfather loved apple pie.  He would always eat his slice with a hunk of cheddar cheese.  After my grandmother passed away, I would drive out to visit him from college, every few weeks or so, and bake him a fresh apple pie.  I am grateful for the time we shared on our short visits and all the things he taught me...and that he didn't mind that I didn't make the crust from scratch.  My memory of him will always be intertwined with apple pie.

The last time I looked at the recipe was when I handed out copies at Grampa's funeral.  I haven't made apple pie since.  But today, I'm kind of in the mood for it, with a bit of cheddar on the side.  Perhaps it's time to throw on an apron, dust the counter with flour, and attempt, yet again, to bake the perfect apple pie.