By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©
“The Pie Shelf”
It sat on the back porch, just outside the screen door. It was an old wooden shelf, weather-worn and slightly crooked. Everyone in the family knew it as “the pie shelf.”
Nobody remembered who gave it that name. Maybe it was Grandma. She used to cool her pies on it every Sunday afternoon. That was back when a breeze still found its way through the kitchen windows. There were always two pies—one for dinner and one “just in case someone dropped by.”
That shelf saw more life than most furniture in the house. Birthday cakes cooled there. Jars of canned peaches lined up in neat rows. Once, a baby kitten was found curled up in the corner, fast asleep next to a lemon meringue.
Years later, after Grandma had passed and the house had new owners, the pie shelf remained. Weathered, yes. Empty, often. But it stood—quiet and proud—like it was waiting for one more pie to be set on top.
When I visited the house last fall, I found it just the same. I brushed off the dust. Then, I straightened one of the legs with a folded napkin. For no reason at all, I baked an apple pie and set it right there on the top shelf.
I didn’t expect visitors. But just before sunset, a neighbor from years ago strolled by, drawn by the scent. He laughed when he saw the pie shelf.
“Some things,”
he said,
“don’t ever really leave us.”
We each took a slice and sat there on the porch, sharing stories of the people who came before us. For a brief moment, it seemed as though they were still here. They felt just inside the screen door, waiting for us to come in.
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