subway thoughts

I was thinking about pies as I got on the subway tonight.  Somewhere between Spadina and Dundas West my thoughts turned to my grandma.

She used to bake pies; in fact every autumn her and my grandpa used to head east to the rich orchards of the Okanagan Valley where they would stay for several days and collect apples from their friend's farm.  I remember tagging along one year with my sisters and parents.  I remember watching the juicer squeeze the apples dry and I remember watching steam rise off the juice as it was heated on the outdoor stove.  I remember my runny nose and cold toes, a reminder that winter was just around the corner. 

We had to go collect a ladder in the orchard one time.  And as my grandma and I set out, the owner of the orchard warned us that a bear was spotted poaching apples from the trees just last week.  I was worried, my grandma wasn't.  We found the ladder in the dusk, leaning against a tree and I carried it back, trying to shove my worry away.

I remember her sensible tan shoes walking through the trees, along the orchard trail.

She died of cancer when I was in grade 11.  She passed away with dignity in her bed, surrounded by family.  I had experienced death for the first time and I didn't quite know how to deal with it all.

That was the year 2000 and today as I rode the subway home I ached in my heart and throat because I missed her.