"I miss the noise."
Four words from a neighbor that I've carried with me for almost 15 years.
I sat in my new kitchen unable to move forward. I was surrounded by three sets of china…mine and both of my grandmothers’. Also piled on the table were bits and pieces of pottery and dishes given to me by my mom and my mother-in-law. All women I loved dearly, who had played such a large role in my life, and who had all passed.
Our previous living situation was meant to be temporary. A place to land until our youngest graduated high school. A chance to figure out where we wanted to live as empty nesters. But our 18-month stop turned into five years. When we finally moved this month, back to our old neighborhood, I was reunited with all of the belongings that had been in storage, including the china.
I hadn’t used my own china set in years. I definitely didn’t need three sets. But deciding to give it away felt like giving them away…these women who meant so much to me.
I pulled my grandmother’s punch bowl out of its box and set it up with the little cups dangling on the side. Then I just sat there and stared at it all.
I texted pictures to my sister to see if she might want any of it, and then I slipped outside and went for a walk along the trail near our house. A familiar trail from living in the neighborhood before, but one I hadn’t been on in years.
I walked under the canopy of trees just starting to leaf out. Took some deep breaths. Heard the crunch of gravel under my feet and the running of the creek alongside me. Occasionally other people would pass, usually with a sweet dog or small children. As the trail in front of me began its ascent up the hill, I was overcome by a feeling of nostalgia.
Years ago, I had written a story about a walk on this same trail. It ended up in my book, La Pomme de Portland. In the story, I wrote about bumping into my neighbor while I was complaining about the noise in my house, the chaos of three kids. Her youngest was finishing his freshman year of college. As we parted ways she said to me, "I miss the noise.”
I wrote about coming home, baking a Strawberry Rhubarb Pie, and looking at my kids over breakfast. Seeing "the little girl Hanna once was flashing with the woman she is becoming." And panicking that my daughter was leaving for college in three years.
Now, my daughter is married. My youngest is the one in college. My middle is building his life in San Diego. And I am the neighbor with the quiet house.
As I walked along the trail, I thought about how fascinating life is. The way it circles round and round. We become our mothers, our grandmothers, the neighbor on the trail who misses the noise.
Not long after I arrived back home, my sister texted me. "We'll take it all except the pitcher with the big chunk out of it.”
“Thank you, sister!”
I can't keep all the sets of china, but knowing they'll find a new home through my sister's store feels right.
We’re still going between our two places. Still cleaning out the old one. Still setting up the new one. We don’t have a regular routine for any of it right now, especially meals. A couple nights ago, we didn’t sit down for dinner until late. Maybe 8pm. Not long after, we heard knocking at our front door.
My hubby went to answer it and in walked our daughter and her new hubby.
“Well, hello neighbors!”
“Hey, we walked up the trail and thought we’d pop in.”
“I’m so happy you did.”
They had also moved into the neighborhood this past month. Hanna, back in her childhood neighborhood starting her new married life. Us, back in the neighborhood, beginning our empty nest life.
I’m not sure how long we’ll have them nearby. Undoubtedly they will outgrow their spot sooner than later, but we’re holding on to every minute we do have them close.
And what I realized in that moment was that we never fully “begin again” from zero. We always carry who we were, what we’ve learned, and those we’ve loved along the way.
I don’t need to hold onto the china. I carry around inside of me all the best parts of my mom, my mother-in-law, my grandmothers.
And life keeps moving forward and giving us moments to make new memories with those we love.
Cheers,
Carrie
PS: My grandmother's china is heading to my sister's store, Wild Bird Mercantile on Bainbridge Island, Washington. It's a darling little vintage shop with beautifully chosen home decor and gifts, and the proceeds support West Sound Wildlife Shelter. If you're ever in the area, I highly recommend stopping by. 🤍
If you'd like to read the full story + the recipe from my book, here it is.
A Strawberry Rhubarb Pie to Hold On To the Noise - June 2012
I skid down the gravel trail, anxious to enter the canopy of trees — my dome of solitude. I need a break from the noise that comes with the chaos of my life. I jog over the bridge and run up the stairs. Deep breath. I've arrived.
I slow my gait and take note of how the forest is filling in. The branches that were bare a few months ago are now decked out in lush green finery; they canopy over the trail. I can no longer make out the stream at the bottom of the trail's steep embankment. The sword ferns have risen up and blocked it from view. But I can hear it.
A few minutes more into my walk, I bump into my neighbor. Usually, I give her a brief wave from the car as I'm taxiing someone somewhere and she's out walking her female golden retriever "of a certain age." But this day, I can actually speak to her in person.
I lamented about the noise in my house and joke about how I can't even hear myself think. She smiles and listens. Her youngest is just about to finish his freshman year at college.
After we finish catching up, I turn away to continue down the trail. Before she and her sweet old gal plod up it, she says to me, "I miss the noise.”
As I continue on my walk, I think of all the ways my house is quieter than it used to be. I no longer have the incessant babbling, crying, and banging of toys from the toddler and preschool years. The boys spend a lot of their time outside and no longer need my constant supervision. And my daughter, well, she is arranging her own life right now. The one she is growing into and will claim as her own. And often, this "arranging" happens away from home. Which makes me panic and think, "She is leaving for college in three years!”
So, I come home and bake a pie.
I can't stop time any more than I can stop the jowls from forming on the sides of my face. But I can try to slow it down.
I can take the time to combine some flour and butter and press that into a pie plate. I can fill it up with the final bits of spring rhubarb and early strawberries. I can even make a lattice top simply because it's pretty.
I can add a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side to stand in for the big hug my youngest no longer lets me give him at school. "It's awkward, Mom.”
And I can serve it all for breakfast (if it lasts that long) because we aren't much for desserts in the evening, and I never make breakfast. Pie for breakfast is a novelty. Something different to make them look at me and take notice.
While they eat their breakfast, I look at each one of them. Almost like a hologram, I can see the little girl Hanna once was flashing with the woman she is becoming. Jack, the boy who is just starting his ascent into manhood, has a more pronounced silhouette. And my littlest one, who has shed his full cheeks but still gives me glimpses of his first few years of life, in the morning when he's sleepy.
And I can continue to eat my pie, in the complete silence of my house, after all of my children have left for school. And I can agree with my neighbor that perhaps I will miss the noise, too.
Strawberry Rhubarb Pie
This might actually be the best pie I have ever made. People inhaled it standing up. Someone left a fork in the pie pan and kept coming back for bites. Someone picked the lattice crust off the top and ate it. There were fights over the last piece. I can't stop thinking about the tiny sliver I got and wishing I had more. Rhubarb is almost on its way out so if you have a hankering to make this, don't wait!
For for Crust
2½ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
¾ cup unsalted butter, cold, cut into cubes
¼ cup shortening, cold
4 to 5 tablespoons ice cold water
For the Filling
3½ cups strawberries, hulled and sliced (about 2 pints)
3½ cups rhubarb, diced like celery (3 to 4 stalks)
½ cup granulated sugar
¼ cup brown sugar
¼ cup cornstarch
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg
1 large egg
1 tablespoon milk
Optional: sprinkle of coarse sugar
In a large bowl, or the bowl of a food processor, combine your flour, salt and sugar, either with a whisk or by pulsing a few times. Add in your shortening and butter pieces. Using your fingers or the processor, quickly work the butter into your flour until it begins to looks like cornmeal with a few pea-sized butter pieces sprinkled throughout. If using a food processor, pulse for about 10 seconds to get the same effect. Pour your water in a little bit at a time, working it into your dough just until the dough holds together. If using a food processor, slowly pour your water through the feed tube with the machine running just until dough holds together but not for more the 30 seconds.
Pour your dough out onto a lightly floured surface and quickly form it into a large ball. Divide the dough in half and form two flattened, rounded disks. Wrap them in parchment paper or plastic wrap and put them in the refrigerator for an hour or in the freezer for up to 3 months. Pull your dough out of the refrigerator 10 minutes before using and out of the freezer 30 minutes before.
While your dough is setting, preheat your oven to 400°F and prep your strawberries and rhubarb. In a large bowl, gently combine your strawberries and rhubarb with your granulated sugar, brown sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, cinnamon, and nutmeg. In a small bowl, whisk together your egg and milk.
On a lightly floured surface, roll out one disk of dough to about 12 inches in diameter and ⅛ inch thick. Gently place it in your 9-inch pie plate. Roll out your second disk of dough to 12 inches in diameter and ⅛ inch thick. If you are interested in trying a lattice top, I recommend an internet search for a how-to video. Carefully, pour your filling into the pie plate lined with the first disk of dough.
Gently, lift your second rolled-out disk of dough and lay it on top of the filling. Trim the excess dough around the edges of both the top and bottom crust to about ½ inch. Tuck the dough from the top and the bottom under the bottom layer. Using your thumb and pointer finger on one hand and the pointer finger of the other, crimp the edges together to seal the dough. Brush your dough with the egg and milk mixture and sprinkle with coarse sugar. Using a fork or a paring knife, puncture a few air vents into the top dough.
Carefully put your pie on the middle rack of your preheated oven and bake for 20 minutes (put a cookie sheet on the rack beneath it to catch any spills). Turn your oven down to 350°F and cook another 40 to 50 minutes, or until your crust is golden brown and fruit is bubbling. Allow pie to cool for 45 to 60 minutes. Slice it and serve with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Enjoy!
Yield: Probably 8 slices unless you have someone standing at the counter eating the whole thing with a spoon, or you’re serving a group of ladies who only want a sliver each.