I didn't have anyone to make strawberry rhubarb yogurt this year. So I gave about a quarter of the harvest away to one of my friends who has been there for me through the last two years. She lost an autistic son once, so she understands the grief and the guilt. She plans to freeze the rhubarb, which she used to do every year in Alaska, and make pies for her family at Thanksgiving.
I made fridge jam, cobbler and pies with the remainder.
I thought maybe I could sell them at the community garage sale, but then I decided I'd rather give them to people who have been trying to help me through the last few weeks.
The streusel-topped pies were my first-ever non-pudding pies. I never had the confidence to try while Lizard could enjoy them. I wish now I had worked up the guts to make him a pie for him last year. Even if it didn't turn out, I think he would have loved it. I think he would have showered me with warm affection even if he didn't like it. Because that's just the kind of guy he was. That's why I married him.
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