The Pie Line at Grandma Dot's

My grandmother, Dot, makes twelve pies every Thanksgiving. Apple, pecan, pumpkin, sweet potato, chess, and a mince pie that only my uncle eats.

The night before, the whole family crowds into her tiny kitchen for "pie assembly." My grandmother stands at the head of the counter giving orders like a general. Cousins peel apples. The teenagers crimp crusts badly. My dad is in charge of the oven timer and takes it very seriously.

Flour gets everywhere. Someone always eats too much filling. My grandmother tells the same story about the year the pecan pie slid off the counter and the dog ate half of it.

On Thanksgiving, after dinner, she lines all twelve pies up on the table, and everyone claps. She's eighty-seven. She says she'll stop making pies "when the family stops showing up." So she'll never stop.