Smoke

This was another poem written as an exercise while in group therapy at ICFR. The prompt we were given was as follows: “Think of a memory that will always bring you joy.” I decided to write about a time my mother and I traveled south from Virginia to see my sister perform with a summer harp program. As we were traveling, we took a day trip through the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee.

At the time we took this trip, I was getting ready to head off to Drexel for my freshman year of college. Having recently graduated high school, I was excited to move away from home at the end of the summer. However, spending this time with Mom was and still is one of my favorite memories.

We started our day by driving to an Appalachian instruments store, where I was able to try numerous banjos. More surprisingly, Mom bought one for me as a graduation present. I was elated.

Following our trip to the instrument shop, Mom and I drove through the Tennessee countryside, all the while singing to our favorite songs along with the car stereo. We had no clear destination, but pulled over at a curious location in the complete middle of nowhere. It was a restaurant that served barbeque and “smoked apple pies”, which were pies cooked in an industrial smoker.

The restaurant’s seating consisted only of an outdoor patio, as the brick and mortar infrastructure was merely a trailer (where the kitchen resided). In the direct center of a gravel parking lot was the smoker.

We both ordered sandwiches for lunch. I ordered a piece of cake for dessert. Mom ordered one of their smoked pies. Ordering the cake is one of the biggest regrets, I think, of my entire life. This is because I was able to snag a bite of Mom’s pie, and I must tell you that I have never tasted anything remotely like it. Pies from a smoker. Who knew?