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A warm fire crackled in the living room hearth. Outside, the winter wind drove snow across the yard, building drifts against fences, berms, and buildings, but inside, the farmhouse seemed to sigh in contentment, bundled up against the cold evening.
Winona was passed out on her back in front of the fire, one foot twitching in the air. Granny Smith had turned in for the night, tucked away upstairs. Apple Bloom was at the Carousel Boutique with the rest of the Crusaders, learning the secrets of creating winter coats from a put-upon Rarity. Big Macintosh was stuck in town, riding out the storm at the inn after a long market day. And since it was the day before Hearth’s Warming Eve and Applejack had the house to herself, she was in the kitchen, collecting ingredients while the oven preheated.
Apples were, as everypony knew, Applejack’s life. She was devoted to them utterly, and they to her in their way, and nopony relished a cold mug of apple cider with an apple tart to match more than she after a long day tending to the apple trees.
But a pony does not live by apples alone, and so it was that while many of Applejack’s favorite foods featured apples, her favorite pie did not. Her friends had no idea, assuming that as with all else in her life she loved apple pie – and of course she would never turn down a slice of apple pie, even one sullied by a scoop of vanilla ice cream as Pinkie Pie always insisted – and she never bothered to correct them, for it never really came up. She only had her favorite pie once a year, when her friends were otherwise occupied with their own lives, their own families, and so no one save the Apples had ever seen her enjoy her favorite pie.
Not a lie or a mistruth, just an accident of fate that Applejack didn’t feel particularly compelled to do anything about.
She remembered the first time she had gamboled into the kitchen as a young filly, rambunctious with the excitement every foal experiences when the unwrapping of Hearth’s Warming gifts is mere days away, and was shushed by her mother who was working at the counter. She had very nearly gone out again, to see about a pony-back ride from Mac, but something had kept her there, and so she stayed and sat quietly in the kitchen with her mother, watching as she prepared and baked a pecan pie.
Applejack had never seen her mother look quite so focused on a task, then or later, and so she too paid close attention as her mother carefully portioned out eggs, butter, sugar, and vanilla into the cane sugar extract she’d painstakingly prepared the day before. After whisking them all together, she added the pecan halves from a bowl to one side, then poured the whole mixture into a waiting pie crust, slid it into the hot oven, and ushered Applejack from the room, shutting the door behind them.
Slowly the house filled with a warm, sweet scent unlike the fruity one young Applejack had already come to associate with her mother’s baking. She watched with interest an hour later when her mother carefully removed the pie from the oven and set it on a rack to cool.
As the day wore on and the pie-smell dispersed, pony-back rides were enjoyed and Applejack forgot about the covered pie sitting unassuming in a corner of the kitchen. At least, until the evening of Hearth’s Warming. As the Apples sat back and pushed licked-clean plates away, bellies full in the delicious way only a holiday feast with family can bring, her mother stood and went into the kitchen for a few minutes. She returned with plates, each bearing a perfect slice of pecan pie.
Applejack leaned in to examine this new dessert, so unlike the others she’d come to know so far. The crust, at least, was familiar, baked to a golden, flaky perfection as with every pastry her mother created. The filling, once the bright yellow of egg yolks and molten butter, had become a deep honey brown, translucent in the candlelight. The pecans had risen to the top and been toasted by the oven’s heat, shining with a patina of sugary coating. She closed her eyes and inhaled, the cooled pie’s subtle scent returning her in a heartbeat to the day it was baked, when that scent had filled the house. She opened her eyes in time to see her mother plop a hefty dollop of fresh-whipped cream on top. She looked around and saw everyone else already taking bites of their own slices of pie, their eyes falling shut in expressions of bliss.
“Go on, Jackie, try it.” Her mother nudged her, smiling slightly.
Applejack looked up at her, then back down at the pie, and took a bite.
Each year after that, she had helped her mother bake the pie. She wasn’t much use the first year or two, but her mother gamely played along, letting her pull out the pie plate, the mixing bowl, the whisk and bring them to the counter. Her mother showed her how to precisely measure out the correct amounts of each ingredient, not a drop more nor a grain less. They would go through the pecan halves her father brought home from the market, taking care to select only the best specimens for inclusion, snacking on the rest as they worked. As soon as the pie was in the oven, no one was allowed in the kitchen; her mother feared even the slightest vibration would foul the pie. Privately, Applejack suspected her fears were founded in old mare's tales, or perhaps misunderstood from horror stories of collapsed cakes and soufflés, but she kept her objections to herself and stood watch at the kitchen door, ready to keep Mac or her father or Granny from ruining their hard work.
After her dalliance with high society, after she was welcomed back and her three-apple mark had appeared on her flank, she had confessed to her mother that one of the reasons she had returned was being unable to bear missing their piemaking together come Hearth's Warming, and her mother had smiled and hugged her tight.
That year on her birthday, she woke up to that sweet scent in the air, confusing her half-asleep mind for a moment for it was out of season yet welcome all the same, and ran downstairs to find a neatly-wrapped pecan pie with a card on top. Inside the birthday card, in her mother's careful mouthwriting, was a copy of the recipe for the pie they baked together every year.
She had tried to share the birthday pie with her family, offering them all their own slice, just like every other pecan pie she’d had, but each of them had smiled and told her this pie was for her. She savored each bite, and the pie lasted her a week. It was soggy and stale at the end of the week, but still delicious.
They only had one more Hearth's Warming together after that, and in her grief Applejack could scarcely register the passing of time before it was Hearth's Warming again. This time for family now seemed only to serve as a reminder that their family was sundered, that there were empty seats at their table, around their hearth.
A few days before Hearth's Warming, Applejack realized with a fresh surge of pain that there would be no pecan pie that year. A moment later she realized there was no reason that had to be true. She had the recipe; she had the know-how. In the wake of her parents' passing, she had shouldered many burdens, big and small, to keep her family together. This would just be one more.
She finished her chores early, leaving Mac to his own with their collie puppy Winona leaping at his heels. Granny had tottered into town for some last-minute shopping with young Apple Bloom tagging along, so she had the farmhouse to herself. She crept into the kitchen and looked around.
Everything looked the same as it always had. The oven creaked as it preheated with its usual tempo. She found the pie plate, the mixing bowl, the whisk in their usual places. She carefully selected the best pecan halves from the small supply in the pantry; she peered into the glass measuring cup as she poured sugar.
The house was silent, still.
When she slid the pie into the oven, she went and sat at the door to the kitchen, staring sightlessly into the living room until the timer dinged almost an hour later.
When she slid the pie out of the oven and onto the cooling rack, it looked just like last year’s pie, the last one she’d baked with her mother. She stared down at the golden pecans, the pie’s soft, sweet scent filling her mind, and she cried.
The pie sat, covered, in the corner of the kitchen counter, and went unremarked for the two days ‘til Hearth’s Warming. If anypony had noticed a sweet smell in the air of the farmhouse that first afternoon, nopony had mentioned it.
After the Apples pushed licked-clean plates away at the Hearth’s Warming table, Applejack looked around at what remained of her family and decided it was time. She slowly got up and went into the kitchen, carefully cut and plated a piece for each pony, topped with a generous dollop of the fresh-whipped cream she’d had chilling since before dinner.
Balancing them all was a minor challenge, but it was worth it to see the looks on her family’s faces when they opened their eyes from their post-feast bliss. Granny smiled sadly up at her and kissed her cheek; Big Mac nodded across the table at her. They each took a bite and pronounced it perfect.
Apple Bloom looked down at hers. She’d been too young to have any last year.
“Go on, Apple Bloom, try it.” Applejack nudged her little sister and smiled.
Apple Bloom looked up at her, then back down at the pie, and took a bite.
This year’s pie was now safely in the oven, and with no one around to disturb it, Applejack didn’t need to stand guard at the kitchen door. She moved out into the living room and curled up on the couch, watching the fire crackle in the hearth. Winona was still snoozing in front of the fire.
Maybe next year she’d be a little more relaxed about making the pie alone; maybe next year Apple Bloom would bound into the kitchen and watch her big sister make her favorite pie. Or maybe not; maybe, Applejack thought, she’d keep this to herself for a little longer, for one more year.
As the sweet scent of pie gradually flooded her home, Applejack thought of that first pie and her mother, and of every Hearth’s Warming since, spent with the family she loved more than life itself, and smiled.
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... BWAAAAH!!! Oh, Gods that was bittersweet. I LOVE IT!
Sad, and sad in just the sort of way that--to me--is best. No great tragedy. No extravagant vicissitudes of fate. Just life, and how it can hurt sometimes. Well done, RBDash. My hat is off to you.
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'Zactly. Thanks.
Way to post your first new story in a year just minutes after Skywriter's!
This is nice. Strong emotions conveyed with quiet words. I wouldn't call it sad, exactly. I'd say we need a "sweet" tag, but then the mods would forbid us from using it together with "sad".
3603827 All this time, you never told me you don't like tragedy!
3603874
We're the best.
I got the notification for his literally as I was clicking the submit button for mine; I thought FIMFic had broken for a second.
Beautifully written. I enjoyed that a lot. Well done.
Very nice~
Quite sad, and quite sweet too. A well crafted tale. Good job.
This is a really touching story, i really enjoyed it :')
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It's like an early Hearth's Warming present!
Even more bizarre is how beautifully the two stories dovetail together. If I'd read them in the opposite order, it would have simply felt wrong for Applejack's phone call not to mention the pie.
Good story! Nice descriptions, and very evoking. Not exactly a tear-jerker, but the perfect definition of bittersweet.
You might want to add it to a few more groups, though. Otherwise you will get only a few views.
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To this day I've never understood some of the conflicts. Like Slice-of-Life and Adventure. If Canterbury Tales teaches us anything, it's that those genres can mix just fine.
Well done, no doubt. It's a touching story.
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Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
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I honestly have no idea what groups to add it to. Apparently a couple people have already added it to Sad and Short Stories -- appropriate -- but where else do you think it would be a good fit?
This is really sweet! Thanks for sharing it. I do love me some Applejack Angst, and as previous commenters have pointed out, we're apparently on the same vibe of late.
You say this is autobiographical, but I can smell, and feel, and taste every moment as if it were my own. You see, my family, too, has a very special, carefully guarded pecan pie recipe of great personal significance. It has taken me many seasons to come close to mastering it.
This fic brought an honest tear to my eye and made me miss them.
I bet my family's pie is better.
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Damn it, I make time to read yours and I end up tearing up at work. Wonderful concept and execution.
Thanks!
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A fellow pecan-pier! I hope you get to see your family (and your pie) soon. I'll be trying again in about two weeks for Christmas.
And honestly, I bet it is, heretical though that may sound. I found Dad's original after he passed, and it was just clipped out of a newspaper. I actually meant to include that in the fic somehow but forgot at the time.
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Oi now, every recipe worthy of song has to start somewhere. Mine uses a blender and a few other oddball shortcuts. It's always the ingredient that isn't on the list that's most important.
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Wow, a blender? That is... elaborate. I think this is the part where I confess that we always just use Pillsbury pre-made pie crusts.
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Hey, so do we. And believe me, using the blender isn't elaborate - it's evidence of hereditary laziness.
I am not trying to shame your pie, dude. Love your pie. It's important.
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Oh, I didn't think you were pie-shaming. (And I'm curious now -- is that how you guys make the filling? I myself am lazy in the other direction, I hate dealing with cleaning blenders so I avoid them whenever possible.)
But yes, pie is important. And I definitely love mine.
It's always nice to see someone expand Applejack's interests beyond apples, and pecan pie is thematically perfect.
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I just went and looked it up and the pecan tree is Texas' state tree, so I guess it's a little more in-character for her than I realized!
How dare you share a story name with me!
Jk, it's cool
Oh god my heart.
That was beautiful.
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I'm sorry!
Pecan pie is a delicious pie rarely mentioned. I think I'll bake one this weekend.
This was very nice, stylistically and content wise.
You have done it again, the style, story line, and execution perfect so as to bring my imagination to full clarity. I tip my hat to you.
-The Vision Shall Rise
Still kicking myself over not guessing my dad's favorite pie. Kind of ironic how he's a southerner himself.
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You should!
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Thank you.
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I think pecan pie is (or can be) a very Southern thing. It's got that whole "comfort food" thing going on.
I don't know what to say. I ended up reading the story behind the story before I got round to this, so I know it's a very personal thing. Whatever else, I think you do it justice though. I felt a strong empathy of Applejack. The line "They only had one more Hearth's Warming together after that" got me.
I will have to read Old Friends sometime.
I'm not sure if I have a similar food I associate with home so strongly. If I did, it would be things served with custard, I suppose. Apple crumble and custard in particular. Not sure I've actually had pecan pie.
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Heathen!
I wish you would! I'm most proud of it, of my published works. (And it's barely longer than this one, so it wouldn't be any great drain on your limited temporal resources.)
It has been brought to my attention since posting this that the pecan is an extremely American nut, only very recently making some small inroads abroad. Might have something to do with it.
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Short but fairly enjoyable story fitting right into the spirit of the season. Knowing what inspired it's birth makes it an even greater pleasure to read!
And boy, DO I have an appropriate goup for it! According to the rules, the story must be submitted to the [Submissions] folder and the mods take it from there. This one will most likely end up in the [Family Bonds] folder, I believe. I'm leaving the joy of adding it to you.
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Hey, thanks for the suggestion! Added.
I love pecan pie.
*Weeps soft tears*
This is certainly one of the hidden gems among the fics on thus site. Truly, RD, I wonder why this didn't get more likes. But it is the luck of the draw. I'm glad you submitted this to Twilight's Library.
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[Sad] doesn't do this story proper justice; bittersweet is more like it. Not because it tries to beats tears out of a reader with an onion, but rather, it doesn't need to. There's genuine emotion here that gets evoked, obvious from not just your blog relating to the story, but because the very concept—of holding on to a memory in such a manner—is so relatable, whether it be through sympathy or empathy or some other means.
Can't say I've read PONY Legacy, but when putting this story up alongside Old Friends, they are similar—as you yourself have pointed out. But not just in terms of atmosphere or characterization, but with the very way it's written. You're able to get a story across in just as many words as you need, not any more or less, and I applaud you for that. The pacing was simply immaculate. Going off of just these two stories alone, brevity seems to be your strong suit, or at least when it comes to writing short stories such as these.
I can't really say much about what goes on in the story itself, for a variety of pointless reasons, but the one that's most distinct to me is that this isn't exactly a story per se. Of course, there's a linear progression of events and character development which you've beautifully crammed into such a short amount of space, but this reads like a scene. Or, I guess, a series of scenes, where very little happens, as opposed to a much more grandiose thing with lots to say. This isn't me trying to find a fault here—as I said before, the brevity is great. But it leaves me having trouble finding words to say since there's so little to go off of.
But the emotion of the piece as a whole is superb. From the very near beginning, we know how this story is going to end. And yet, somehow, that doesn't dissuade from the emotion behind it. I hesitate to say it heightens it, nonetheless there's really nothing to get in the way of the messages conveyed. Again, great pacing.
If I really want to nitpick, I'd tell you some of the sentences were phrased awkwardly, making me have to pause and go back a couple words to reread. But this is me, and the story does what it does what it does just fine.
Is great story. You should write more.
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Man, thanks for the thoughtful comment.
I do seem to gravitate towards being sparing with my wordcount, and my plotting, and not actually having very much to say in any given work. That's probably all directly related to how exhausting I find writing to be, as we've discussed before. And my EqD prereader said much the same thing, suggesting even if I got it to a state of technical perfection, he wasn't sure if he could recommend it for posting because it's really not a story, at least in the traditional sense.
This one was much less polished than Old Friends -- I sort of just wanted to be done with it once I felt it was in a good-enough state -- but I'm trying to summon up the wherewithal to get with a serious editor or two and scour it clean. Other projects and real life have been occupying my time, I'm afraid.
Excellent. Well written, paced, and hits the right notes without being manipulative. Knowing that this story has a personal connection gives it so much more gravitas. Greenthumbed and followed.
Also, pecan pie is also my favorite pie. Mom always bought them just for me and will always have one around when I visit.
I couldn't sleep tonight, and went wandering about the site in search of a good bed time reading. I found this, and I must say, I'm glad I couldn't sleep. I enjoyed this story thoroughly, and only wish I'd known about it sooner…
How do you call a story without conflict?
Fimfiction is quite rich with them and this one is yet another shining example of a brilliantly executed conflict-less story that is told rather shown.
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The closest this manages is "man vs. self", I think. But it isn't even AJ struggling with anything, really... It's implied that she has struggled previously, I guess, but she's fine now and just reminiscing about it.
The brevity only makes this that much better. I couldn't really imagine that this story wouldn't be as bittersweet if it was any shorter or any longer, and I'm very glad you were able to make such a wonderful balance. Thanks for the good, short read—the writing is solid, if at times a little lacking, and making the reader feel emotions without beating it out of them (as Raz said) makes a "sadfic" a good "sadfic" (if I can call it that).
The biggest thing I like about this story, though, is that it fits so perfectly with canon. After reading this, without the show confirming it or changing it otherwise, I have this ingrained into the show's canon. It just works so well at explaining everything it revolves around, especially the pie.
A B+.
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Hey, thanks for reading! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
In general I find I have a hard time writing longer stories, but it seems to work out for me.
I do love me some pecan pie and now I want some thanks to your story.
Sweet ( double entendrè ) and sad. Well done.
Thanks for the beautiful story.
Yeah, what everyone else has said.
Ever since Significant Other introduced me to Southern USA cooking, I have been all excited and bonkers about pecan pie (which happens to be his favourite).
Yum!
I happen to use ~60 mL (1/4 cup) of Kahlua in my pie recipe.
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The best thing about living on your own (or with your Significant Other), it that you can up and decide to randomly bake a pie at 3 AM
