Pie

Sitting in the northern part of Michigan is an old timey restaurant in the small, lakeside town of Petoskey.

Baskets of cascading flowers hang from converted gaslights that line the pretty streets.

 In a park nearby, a bronze statue of Chief Petoskey overlooks the big blue.

We go there every summer because we find it iconic, sweet, real…a remnant from a time before, when things moved more slowly, and everything tasted sweeter.

It takes us about two and a half hours to drive there, even though it’s only about forty-five miles from our cabin.  This is probably because we always seem to get behind some old guy hauling his boat.

There is a freshly painted red schoolhouse, now turned art gallery that we sometimes visit along the way.  Here there are metal crows lining the porch railing.  And once a giant toad sat in the middle of the grass out front.

We don’t mind it taking so long unless we are running late, because the place we are heading to closes early and it would be a damn tragedy to not get there in time.

Jespersons is still owned by the same family.  They have been opening their door to tourists and locals for over one hundred years now…locals with a lot of clout, like Hemingway.

It’s the kind of place that serves ham salad sandwiches and Arnold Palmers.

A large plate glass window, kept sparkling clean, opens to the street and the passers by often slow down to peer in at the diners.  Once, right after a sudden rain shower, I saw a window washer miraculously appear unannounced to squeegee the droplets away.

The restroom is down in the stone basement.  Old- fashioned white wash coats the stairs, and a rickety wooden stool props open the bathroom door to keep the moisture at bay.  There’s even a table down there, with a couple of chairs for the staff to use when they take their breaks.

The waitresses come and go…but they’re all nice.

They serve the best pie anywhere.  They once got a write up saying so in the New York Times.  The big guy who bakes them used to run a sporting goods store someplace further north.  His name is Bill.  Two years ago he ran for mayor.

My husband and son usually order the crumbly apple…but not me.  I go with a slice of cherry, the berry rhubarb or sometimes banana cream.

When we sit in there, at Jespersons, in Petoskey, all seems right with the world.  I guess it’s because of a lot of things and how they all fit together.  But mostly it’s because of the pie.

(Karen)