Near where my mother used to buy her corn on the cob, Selewsky’s Farm Stand, there is now a place called Young’s Farm (without the apostrophe). They carry homemade pies, of which one, the dark cherry, is close to my heart, or I should say gut.
There is a cherished person in my life who keeps me supplied with one of these pies on occasion, and it’s always a happy one. It’s one of the ways Providence keeps us joyful rather than contemplating our woes.
There are so many points of happiness at all times of the year. The top of a sugar maple has just turned to fall colors, a sign of glad things even as the dark cherries fade.
Civilization 