Kitchen tours and gooseberry pie

A few weeks ago week I had the privilege of giving my first official kitchen tour. It was for the friends of our house's previous owner. I served gooseberry pie.

What? You've never heard of inviting in the friends of the people you bought your house from? You've never baked them a pie? You've never heard of gooseberries? I see I have some explaining to do.

Gooseberries are a marble-sized sour fruit that grow on prickly bushes. 

I inherited half a dozen gooseberry bushes when we moved into our house in Benjamin Hills in 2013. I was familiar with gooseberries because I remembered picking them on our farm when I was seven or eight. One year my sister and I sold them to the The Iron Kettle in Hillsboro. I think we made $3. Then the bush died, and with it, our source of income.

So when we were in the process of buying the house, I was mildly interested to discover I was to become queen of a gooseberry plantation. I like the sour-tasting fruit in pie, but if I had the choice I would probably choose cherry or strawberry rhubarb instead. However, everyone I met connected with the house--next door neighbors, the executor of the estate, and a friend of the deceased owners--talked about the gooseberry bushes and raved about her gooseberry pie. It seemed she had created a group of aficionados.

I dutifully picked the gooseberries every June, freezing them in bags with four cups each. I think I got two or three bags in 2013 and 2014. Last year, however, was a banner year. The frequent rains came at exactly the right time and the gooseberries swelled plumper than I'd ever seen them, and they kept coming and coming. I put enough in the freezer for eight pies, and then gave away bags to my aunts at a family gathering.

So that brings us up to speed on the gooseberries.

At a funeral of a former neighbor, my husband Dave and I spoke with Gyla, the woman who had been engaged to John, the man who owned our house. Now you need to pay attention, because this is where it gets complicated. Gyla had lived two doors down on the same street for probably 30 years. Her husband had died a few years ago, as had Brenda (of the gooseberry pie fame) the wife of John, the owner of our house. So John and Gyla, who had both lost their spouses, after a time decided to marry each other. They were going to live in John's house, but days before the wedding, he died unexpectedly. I think it was a heart attack. So Gyla ended up staying put in her house, and we bought John's house and became Gyla's neighbor two doors down, until about a year later when she moved to a condo.

We hadn't seen Gyla in a while, so at the funeral Dave was telling her about the renovations to our house. Since that was to have been her home, she had a lot of interest in his description of how we'd removed the L-shaped walls between the living room, dining room, and kitchen. She said she'd love to see the finished project. We told her that when the granite counter tops were installed, we would give her a call.

The granite company took longer than we'd planned, but finally the counter tops were in, and then a week later the island top was installed. Gyla said she was excited to see our house, and she knew of a few people who would be interested as well. Would it be okay to invite a few of John's old friends and the executor of the estate? Sure, I said. We set the day for Tuesday after Easter. I figured since we were hosting our Easter family gathering, the house would still be reasonably clean.

I told Gyla to plan on having coffee and dessert at my place. I got a bag of gooseberries out of my freezer and baked a pie.

Gyla showed up with a gorgeous glass gazing ball, done in a mosaic of greens and turquoise as a hostess gift. I loved it. The tour felt a little awkward at first, since I'd just met most of them. However, the couples were appreciative. They told me they had many good memories of the hours they'd spent in my house over the years. Apparently it was the party house, and whomever lost at chicken-foot dominoes would have to take home the dreaded rubber chicken. The chicken was lost for a while, Gyla said. It had been found in our hall closet when they were cleaning out our house for the estate. The same hall closet that we considered demolishing in our recent remodel, but decided to keep because it contains a heating duct (apparently those are important) and because we wanted to maintain an entryway. Plus, I needed a place to keep my sweeper.

I love stories like the traveling rubber chicken, and it's fun thinking about it roosting in my closet for a season. But what I hadn't thought about was how these people had lost their friend with no warning. Even though several years have passed, the ache is probably still there. Seeing their friend's house again, with the parts that are the same and the parts that have been transformed, might have brought a little closure. Having a slice of gooseberry pie, made with Brenda's (John's wife's, remember?) recipe (she had shared it with our next-door neighbor, so I got it from her) might have brought back some memories that had been tucked away.

And I have to hand it to Gyla--she is a "Why not?" person. Why not take someone up on an offer to tour their kitchen? Why not see if you can bring a few friends? Why not make it a party?

In an email, Gyla offered this bit of wisdom gleaned from her experiences:

"One important thing I learned from losing Gene and then John is that new memories can be made after people die.  When you participate in activities about the things you used to talk about or do with them it adds new joy to those memories."

Out of the gooseberries life has handed her, she has made pie.

My kitchen now with "The Big Island," granite countertops, glass tile back splash, open area above original cabinets, separate ice maker, and new lighting. 

I have lots more stories of our remodel, and I will take more pictures. Stay tuned!