My dad loved the water. He served in the Navy in World War II, and I wonder if that time spent in the Pacific shaped him to love the sea as he did. Maybe those seas, those islands he visited were a balm to his soul in the midst of the frightfulness of war. The lapping of water against the shore, the hull of a boat, or the pilings on a dock seemed to put him at peace like nothing else ever did.
He would put me in the car, and we would make our way on two-lane roads winding through New Bern, and on down to Atlantic Beach, Emerald Isle, Morehead City, and Beaufort, all coastal towns in Eastern North Carolina. He loved boats, owned many different kinds over the years, so we would come to these small towns to “walk the docks”. He would observe, take notes, talk to owners. It was important to him to make space for hobbies, interests, growth, and boating was one of his biggest passions. We once sailed together from our small hometown down to Morehead City, and the joy I remember seeing in his face at the helm of his Pearson 323 makes me teary even today. My dad’s home was the sea, much more so than any land-dwelling he ever experienced.
I didn’t take the same joy he did in boats, but I did receive the same love of water that he did. All of those early exposures to the ocean marked me for life. We rented a beach cottage called the Sankaty at Emerald Isle for several years. That is where I fell in love with beachcombing, shells, and body surfing. I can remember taking a big tumble in the waves, and my dad hoisting me out of the water, sputtering and disoriented, calmed by the strength and agility of his care. Tired and salty at the end of the day, we would often drive to Morehead City or Beaufort for dinner. Fresh seafood was our family love language, and we didn’t mind waiting for a table, as long as it took. At the end of the meal, my dad would often order a dessert, a lemon pie of some variety with a crumbly crust and usually a fluffy meringue on top. That man loved a good pie!
I decided to subscribe to some magazines this year, Better Homes and Gardens and Southern Living. I have missed having printed seasonal material to read as I sit on my back porch eating a slow lunch. My first Southern Living issue came last week, not the thickly packed editions that I remember from my younger years. The cover photo was of a pie that immediately caught my eye, a rendition of these ubiquitous lemon pies of Eastern North Carolina, that the chef calls “Atlantic Beach Pie”. As I read the recipe and the story behind it, I was transported to those seafood feasts with my daddy, knowing that I had to add the ingredients to my shopping list, and indulge in a childhood sweet nostalgia that I had all but forgotten.
I will pour some care and love into this pie, savoring each bite, recalling some happy experiences with my dad, the ones I feel embodied his best and truest essence. Food and water, these are the spaces where I connected to the sweetest parts of him. With each creamy bite, I will think of the ocean, the crabcakes, the long walks that marked my childhood vacations and be grateful for what was and even what wasn’t. Who knew that one recipe in one magazine could kindle such emotion? That is the mystery of meals, the way they spread a tender feast of remembrance.
My dad loved pie too. It seems to me that all the men Iknew of that generation loved pie. Of course, my dad and uncles and their friends grew up in the country with gardens and berry patches that their mothers and sweethearts made into apple, peach, raspberry, blackberry, gooseberry, rhubarb, etc., pies. I made many a pie to put a smile on my dad's face. His favorite cream pie was butterscotch: a labor intensive version that started with carmelizing white sugar. It was delicious!