A group is coming to the Holler for a gourd program. It’s great to have innocents out. I’ve about wearied kith and kin to death, gourd-wise. I can and do, talk at length about the fruit that keeps on giving.

We have a gourd program, complete with tales tall, and tales for real. We give away door prizes. We have refreshments which almost always include a selection of homemade pies. I like cake. But I love pies. There’s something satisfying about flattening out pastry, lining a dish, piling in good stuff in copious quantity. I like crimping the edges. I like decorating the top crust, if there is one. They’re so dang pretty once out of the oven. Unless I screw up and forget about them. That doesn’t happen more than once. Maybe twice, and then I err on the other side…check. Check. Check. Oven light on. Oven light off. Compulsive behavior is so time consuming. I compensate by eating pie.

That’s a Frankoma Oklahoma baking dish.

Folks walk around the Holler. Check out the odd and beautiful in every direction. The parrot will be gracious. Or not. Molly greets and backs off. There’re lots of places to sit and ponder.

We use real dishes. Real cloth napkins. Real cups. Real glasses. Fake sugar for the real tea.

Having penciled-in guests drives me to clean my shop. I bet there’s hardly a cobweb in there now. I wouldn’t bet much, but I’d bet a diet Sunkist orange soda in a heartbeat. I dusted sorta. I vacuumed pretty well. Bottle caps make a hellish racket going up the hose into the cannister. I opened the cannister up and retrieved all the bottle caps in there. And I have thousands of them. They weren’t even special.