Lies, Lies, Lies and Pies, Pies, Pies

For the past 5 summers, I’ve worked at a farm market a mile or so from my house. For the past 5 summers, I’ve hated my job.

To be fair, there have been some aspects of working there that I’ve loved: watching my sisters Anna and Jenice dress up as “Miss Cherry” and “Miss Strawberry,” for example. Kneeling on the floor stuffing balloons into their costumes and safety pinning their outfits really was a joy, as was watching the retired men waiting for their wives to select the perfect jam basket combination inappropriately hit on them (“Can I buy you by the quart?”)

But overall, I wasn’t a fan of making greasy donuts day after day, dreaded the inevitable drama between workers, and tired of the pastel clad tourists and their repetitive remarks about the smell, cuteness and quaintness of the store. When I found other employment this summer, I vowed never to return.

Guess where I started working two weeks ago?

Yeah, they needed someone to come in to make pies, and in a moment of weakness I volunteered. The only redeeming factor is that the market is closed by the time I get there. I get to mass produce cherry, cherry crunch, apple and dutch apple pies in peace and quiet - after I turn off the dulcimer music that is usually piped over the intercom, that is.

Usually, after looking at pies for a few hours I start serenading them, switching the lyrics from "Lies" by The Swell Season (the adorable duo from the movie Once, who I can't wait to see in concert next month) from "breaking us down with your lies, lies, lies" to "breaking me down with these pies, pies, pies," etc.

Playing this week in the bakery: Lerae's rendition of "American Pie."