Beth M. Howard's Blog

For the past two years I have been working on a documentary film about pie and how deeply it is woven into Iowa’s culture. It’s my first film and it’s been a self-taught crash course in filmmaking, as I’ve had to learn every step of the process along the way. I am finally at the finish line of this hard-won marathon and I should be elated at the accomplishment. Instead, I am filled with doubt and fear.

Let me start with the doubt.

One of my main motivations for making this film was to show how something as simple as making and sharing pie can build community, create unity in these divided times, and inspire acts of kindness. The film is a compilation of stories of people using pie as a tool for social good by giving it away for free, using it to say thank you, teaching kids skills, raising money for causes, and feeding the hungry. And because American pie is not originally American – it’s an immigrant that can be traced back to ancient Egypt – my film promotes cultural acceptance. So the film isn’t just about pie, it’s a missive for peace and justice. 

That may sound well and good, so why the doubt? Because the horror of all the destruction and cruelty being committed by our administration over the past 100 days had pushed me to the brink of a nervous breakdown. So much so that I fell apart during a phone conversation with a friend. 

“What’s the point of even making this film anymore?” I sobbed. “It won’t make any difference. We are past the point of any hope.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “Your film will make a difference. It’s a positive, feel-good message that everyone needs right now.”

I hung up feeling better. Thank god for friends like Kee Kee!

No sooner was the doubt vanquished, the fear showed up.

Last week the film went through its final stages of sound mixing and color grading at a studio in Des Moines. The sound was simple but the color didn’t go so well and instead of improving the look of my film, it looked worse. At least it looked worse to me.

I showed the most recent cut to my partner’s sister, Pam, with whom I was staying for the week. While we were watching it, I couldn’t restrain my running commentary. 

“That pie crust looks too orange,” I grumbled. “The sky is too purple. His skin is too gray. That shirt is supposed to be red not pink.” 

She ignored me and when the film was over – after she wiped away her eyes over the sentimental ending – she didn’t say anything. Proof that my fears were valid: my film was so badly produced she didn’t dare comment on it.

But the next day she asked me to come into her sewing room. She pointed to a quilt she had made hanging on the wall. “What do you see?” she asked.

“I see diamonds and a big circle in the middle,” I answered. “It’s beautiful.”

Pam moved closer to the quilt and pointed. “When I look at this quilt, all I see is these straight lines here that are supposed to be curved. It bothers me every time I look at it.”

“I don’t see that at all,” I assured her. “It looks perfect to me.”

“Your film is like that,” she said. “Only you see the flaws. When I watched it, I wasn’t looking at those details you pointed out. I would have never noticed them. All I saw was a wonderful, heartfelt story.”

I don’t know why I needed to be reminded of this, because in my pie making classes, I always tell my students, “Pie is not about perfection. It should look homemade. In fact, the more homemade, the bigger the emotional response you’ll get from the people who get to eat it. Because they will know it was made by hand and made with love.”

My documentary was made with love (and sweat and tears), and when I finally release it, I will hang onto these lessons. Flaws are often invisible to others. And if people point them out, well, they’re missing the meaning and the value behind the effort. Whether it’s making a quilt or a pie – or a film about pie – whatever the creative endeavor is, it doesn’t have to be perfect.

Doubt and fear don’t make the world a better place, creating and sharing our work does. 

COMING SOON!

Pi Day is tomorrow, March 14. That’s pi as in 3.14, the irrational number with an infinite number of digits that never repeat. Used to calculate circumference, it’s represented by the Greek symbol p, and, much to my and other people’s happiness—even those of us who are bad a math—it’s caught on as a day to be celebrated with pie. 

Pie, the kind you eat, also serves as a symbol. It represents comfort, love, generosity, and community. Pie brings people together to sit down and talk and share something homemade. This combination of dessert and fellowship is nourishing to the soul and fortifies our relationships. 

To celebrate Pi Day, I was planning to take part in some of that food and fellowship and go to what we affectionately refer to as “the church ladies’ lunch” in Donnellson. The lunch, held monthly at the Pilot Grove Community Room from spring through fall, is put on by volunteers to raise money for a local church, though it’s open to anyone. There are always several long tables lined end to end filled with slices of homemade pie. Strawberry rhubarb, lemon meringue, peach, coconut cream, chocolate cream, this smorgasbord of pies is what lures people in, and so they make good money.

The volunteers, mostly ranging from ages 65 to 95, make friendly conversation with everyone as they assemble sandwiches, ladle soup, clear trays, and replenish the slices of pie on the tables. Some pour coffee and hand out bags of potato chips. Conversations around every table between kids, parents, grandparents, bank tellers, farmers, and auto mechanics alike filling the large room with a pleasant hum. People genuinely enjoy themselves, despite the myriad ages as well as myriad beliefs (political and otherwise), and it’s this cheerfulness that gives me hope that our world isn’t as divided as we think it is.

God knows we need more of that hope, which is why I was looking forward to going tomorrow. 

I contacted one of the volunteers, Norma, to ask about lunch on Pi Day and the dates for other upcoming lunches and to my surprise—and disappointment—she told me they aren’t having any until this fall. “Nothing in spring? What about summer?” I asked. 

“No,” she said. “They’re getting too old and it’s too much work.”

“Aren’t there any younger people who can step up?” I pressed.

“They’re all working.”

Right.

I couldn’t shake the disappointment. 

I used to run a pie business, The Pitchfork Pie Stand, and while I wasn’t intending to use volunteers to help run it, people offered because they wanted to be part of something where they could work with their hands, feel useful, and, as a bonus, make new friends. They rolled up their sleeves to roll out dough, peel apples, fold bakery boxes, and more. It was hard work, yes, but there was a camaraderie that you don’t find every day. And ever since I closed my business, I have lamented how I don’t have anything like that in my life anymore, and how I’ve never been able to recreate that kind of community.

Like the community I see at the church ladies’ lunch. 

I’ve lived just outside Donnellson for 10 years and it never occurred to me that I could be part of this pie-loving community that already exists. I’ve had many excuses for not volunteering. For one, I am not a member of their church (or any church). I don’t live in town. I’m too busy working. I travel too much. And I already have a lot of friends—even if they are spread out across the globe. But after learning that the church ladies couldn’t keep up with the work, I heard a voice in my head that said, Instead of lamenting the loss, be part of the solution.

I texted Norma again and asked, “What if I help organize the lunches? 

She replied that she would check and let me know. Even if the answer is that it’s still too much work for them, I now know I need to break out of my cocoon, get out of the house, and be part of something bigger, to be around people—in real life, not just on the phone or online—even if those people are not all like minded. I need to be part of the change that I, for one, would like to see in the world, which is building more community. 

In the meantime, I hope you’ll celebrate pi day by sitting down with others and sharing some pie. Because something as simple as that can make the world infinitely better.

The last time the current Republican president was in office I heard many people fretting about what other country they could move to. This time around, just over a month into his new term, I hear people worrying about having their passports up to date and their go bags ready. Go bags, filled with emergency provisions, are normally kept at the ready in case of earthquakes and wildfires. But then with the unfathomable actions by our government leaders — the slashing and burning of so many critical Federal programs, the indiscriminate firing of workers essential to our health and safety, the threat of losing Social Security benefits, our most personal data no longer secure, the cruelty toward immigrants, the poor, the LGBTQ+ community, women, and oh so much more — it feels like an earthquake and fire all at once, or more like a dumpster fire gone wild. 

Amid this extreme assault on our American Constitution and the blatant abuse of power, many—including myself—are desperate to know what we can do besides flee the country. 

In his newsletter called Damn-Giver Dispatch, Pastor John Pavlovitz begins with calm assurance that it’s okay to be exhausted and that we should take a pause. “Sometimes you need to take on the evil in the world,” he says, “and sometimes you need to take a nap. I’m going to do the latter. 

“It isn’t irresponsible or selfish,” he continues, “it’s caring for your soul and yourself and those around you so that you’ll be here for a long time.”

Author Anne Lamott in her Washington Post opinion piece declares she’s been feeling doomed, exhausted, and quiet. “The new land looks inhospitable,” she writes. “But if we stay alert, we’ll notice that the stark desert is dotted with growing things. In the pitiless heat and scarcity, we also see shrubs and conviction.”She shares the wisdom of her Jesuit friend Father Tom Weston who says, “We do what’s possible.” And she quotes Susan B. Anthony’s grandniece who says, “Remember that the light always returns.” 

Lamott, who echoes Pavlovitz’s suggestion to nap, says her new fight song is “Left foot, right foot, breathe…plant bulbs right now in the cold rocky soil, and rest.”

Resting and self-care are well and good—and necessary—as outrage and grief are indeed exhausting, but it’s the simple yet effective guidance from my friend and fellow Iowan Kathy Eldon that always come back to me when I’m down in the pit of despair. Her advice? “When you’re feeling blue, do something nice for someone else.” 

Sounds simplistic, yes, but the benefits of this are scientifically proven. According to the Mayo Clinic, kindness can positively change your brain physiologically “by boosting levels of serotonin and dopamine. These neurotransmitters cause the pleasure and reward centers in your brain to light up. Endorphins, your body’s natural painkiller, also may be released when you show kindness.” 

As it so happens, there is an organization dedicated to kindness. Aptly called Random Acts of Kindness Foundation (RAK for short), their tag line is “Make kindness the norm.” Their website, randomactsofkindness.org, is packed with myriad resources: suggestions to get started, workbooks, calendars, posters, graphics to share on social media, inspirational quotes, and so much more. They outline how kindness, whether at work, home, school, or in everyday life, not only improves mental and physical well-being but builds stronger connections, breaks down barriers, and inspires others to pay it forward. In other words, kindness begets more kindness. 

It doesn’t cost anything to be kind. Some of RAK’s suggestions include being a friend to a lonely neighbor, cook a meal for someone who is struggling, send an encouraging email to a colleague, be generous with compliments, pick up litter, let somebody merge while in traffic, write only positive comments online. Even just saying thank you or holding the door open for someone is a good start.

Here’s a calendar with some ideas — and this is just for March! RAK offers a whole year of suggestions.

Anne Lamott has some suggestions of her own related to the current state of affairs: buy groceries for food pantries, care for victims of the fires, provide refuge for immigrants, and volunteer support for public schools and libraries, to name a few.

There is so much we can do in this new era where manners and decency and even “good Christian values” have been abandoned by those in power. (Never before has an American president publicly berated another country’s leader. Talk about a lack of diplomacy!) Rest up if you need to, but I find that doing nice things for others energizes me. There’s even a term for it: “helper’s high.” Because if our current president and his administration can’t demonstrate kindness, it is up to the rest of us stay here and make America nice again.

This essay was updated from one that aired on Tri States Public Radio on February 13, 2025. To listen, go to TSPR. You might also like some of my other blog posts from the “Kindness” category.

I live on a farm in Iowa where barn cats are part of the landscape. You don’t go to a pet store and buy a cat; they just show up on your property, then it’s up to you whether you make them feel welcome to stay. I’ve always been a dog person. But cats are clever and they found a way to ensure they could change that, change me. 

A year and a half ago when the last of our dogs, Peanut, our Chihuahua rescue, died of congestive heart failure, a cat showed up on our farm. She was wary at first, but after a few solid meals she soon realized that we were rockstar foster parents. We started calling her Linda. She eventually let us pet her, though she mostly maintained a safe distance up in the rafters where the bats roost. 

Because we care so much about the well-being of animals—and because we can afford it—we took her to the vet for spaying and shots. I had found a home for her with a friend in Ames, but the vet instructed us to keep her confined for two weeks before handing her off. 

At the same time Linda recovered from her surgery, I was recovering from my grief over the loss of Peanut. We snuggled in bed together, comforting each other. I petted her for hours, which is a scientifically proven form of therapy. Her fur was so soft. Her purring so soothing. And her appreciation so palpable—after all she was curled up on a down comforter instead of a prickly hay bale—that I told my friend sorry, we’ve decided to keep her. 

A few days later Linda’s sister showed up. She looked so much like Linda we thought we were hallucinating when we spotted her outside. The sister, who we called Gypsy, was more feral. We couldn’t catch her for the scheduled vet appointment and when we saw her next, she was in the hay loft—with her five kittens.

Around this time there was a black and white tom cat who had made himself at home. We called him Lewis. It was clear by the colors that he was the father of the kittens. Lewis was easier to get into the pet carrier for a trip to the vet and we got him neutered, and eventually got the five kittens fixed too. Gypsy, however, was still eluding us and, in the meantime, she had another litter of kittens—three this time, putting the total number of cats at eleven. 

Nobody needs eleven cats. Not even the craziest of cat ladies. 

Animal shelters are already overrun with strays, so I tried to find homes for them myself. I posted kitten videos on social media. Who could resist that kind of cuteness? Surely, I would find people to adopt them. But in rural Iowa, every farm has its own ever-growing population of cats. Only one local farmer said yes with the caveat that they wouldn’t provide food or vet care. That is the norm for stray cats; if they’re allowed to stay they have to fend for themselves. My heart is way too soft to let that happen.

I never wanted cats. I was allergic to them as a kid. I find them too aloof, too picky, and too independent. They’ll head off to god-knows-where for days, sometimes weeks, leaving you to think they’re dead, only to show up and act like they’d never left. A dog never tortured me like that.

As much as I’d love to rescue another dog, I can’t right now because we still have all eleven cats. The longer we tried to find homes for them, the more we got attached. And vice versa. Even my partner Doug, a stoic-leaning farmer, couldn’t part with any of them, despite the sizable vet bills and industrial-sized bags of food. “They’re so happy here,” he conceded in a tender-hearted tone. Like I said, cats are clever. 

Ours are not your average barn cats. They are all fixed. They are all healthy, well fed, friendly, and have shiny, thick coats.  They mostly live outside in our various barns, but they are allowed to come inside if they want. They are family members. We are such cat people now that we even went to the Cat Video Fest in Burlington. The cats all have names: besides Linda and Lewis, there’s Braveheart, Smudge, Target and Bullseye—named for their circular markings—and Gypsy, their mom, who we finally got fixed. 

They are dog-like sometimes in that they beg for food, they like to nap, and they even like to go on walks with us. You will sometimes see us walking down the gravel road with a herd of cats. 

In the way that Linda helped me through my grief over Peanut, these charming, loving felines have provided the calm and comfort I needed to get through the long, excruciating grind of this election. And they will continue to do so as we move forward in its aftermath. If I’ve learned anything from cats—and from animals in general—it’s that they’re good at adapting and that no matter what happens they carry on. And so will we.

(This essay originally aired on Tri States Public Radio. Click here to listen.)

Grief has struck again. I just lost my closest friend in Iowa, Patti Durflinger, to cancer. I was by no means Patti’s only close friend, she was a good and true friend to countless others. She was also a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a sister, aunt, and a daughter. She was a lighthouse, living her life in service to others, a beacon of hope and light for anyone drifting in darkness. She had owned a hair salon in her early career, creating beauty and lifting the spirits of her customers. She went back to school for a master’s degree to become a teacher, mentoring high school students with social challenges whose lives were changed by her patience, wisdom, and guidance. She had served on city council and on the board of a nonprofit organization to make some desperately needed improvements to buildings on the rural town’s main street. She was involved in the performing arts, raising funds and sometimes doing the hair and makeup for various plays. She played piano at her church every Sunday. She participated in philanthropic organizations like TTT and PEO. Like sunshine in spring, she brought goodness and growth to everything she touched with endless optimism.

Even after she got diagnosed with Stage IV cancer, she continued to work tirelessly on umpteen committees, kept doing generous deeds for others, and started working on a book about the town’s unsung heroes. She continued to listen to everyone else’s problems while almost never talking about her own—even when going through chemo and radiation. She was smart, gorgeous, and funny. She could make me laugh harder than anyone else I know, a kind of shared laughter that is the best kind of medicine.

In the last weeks of her life, a hospital bed was set up in her living room. The cancer had advanced to the point where she couldn’t laugh, let alone talk, but you could see she was still present. Visitors, often bearing gifts of casseroles, cookies, and bouquets of flowers, came in droves. At one point I counted ten people packed into her kitchen alone.

There were so many people coming by I wondered if it was too much for Patti. She needed to rest, I thought. But whenever someone new came in the room, especially when it was someone she hadn’t seen in a while, her face would light up with a smile. When several people told me they were hesitant to visit because they didn’t want to impose, I told them, “Don’t worry about that. Just go see her.” So they did. And she smiled at them too. That smile tells you everything about Patti, that even as she was in pain and dying, she still radiated her signature positivity.

In the end, no one will say there were too many visitors. They will say, “Look how deeply she was loved.”

I had never seen such an outpouring of love. This was clearly a direct correlation to how Patti lived her life. She gave so much to others and now everyone—not just from her small town but from across the country—was showing up to thank her and say goodbye.

On April 23rd, the day came when the goodbye was the final one. I haven’t been this crippled by grief since my dad died in 2017. But I’m finding some consolation in the friendships, the kindness, even the laughter I witnessed at Patti’s house in those days leading up to her passing, continuing all the way through to the lunch after the funeral, and still continues. There’s a European proverb that says, “A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.” I was not alone in my grief over losing her when I had so many others to share that grief with, and leaning on this knowledge has lightened the burden enough to get through some unspeakably difficult days.

If someone you know is sick and dying, go visit them. Don’t wait. Visit them even if they’re not sick or dying. Be the person who shows up with a casserole, cookies, flowers, or just a smile. Better yet, be a lighthouse like Patti and make such a positive impact on your community that you too have people lining up at your door when it’s your time to depart.

Rest in peace, Patti. And thank you for being the best friend I could ever ask for.

Photo credit: Brian Ray / Hawkeyesports.com

I’ve never been a fan of basketball. I don’t like the screech of tennis shoes on the wood floor and the cacophony of whistles and buzzers echoing in the arena.

My disdain for basketball has remained fully intact my entire life until this past Saturday when I watched the University of Iowa women play Michigan in the Big 10 semi-final.

I was at a friend’s house and she wanted to see the game, and because I love my friend and would do anything to spend time with her, I dutifully parked myself on her couch—and proceeded to have my mind blown.

These young women! Wow! I was in awe.

My amazement was not reserved only for Iowa’s superstar Caitlin Clark, though she is an excellent role model for her grace and generosity, sharing credit for her success the same way she shares the ball. She beat the men’s NCAA record for points scored, yet she’s so generous she also holds a record in the most assists, helping her teammates to score. For these uber-impressive female athletes, it doesn’t matter who makes the basket, they are in it together—something you don’t see often enough in today’s me-me-me society.

As they ran, dodged, passed, and pivoted, their tight bond and trust was evident. If someone fell, there was always a hand helping them up, whether the fallen was one of their own players or on the opposing team. What I saw was discipline, strength, poise, resilience, cooperation, and forgiveness—all traits we need more of in the world.

Speaking of which, one of the biggest problems in politics these days is that we treat it like a team sport. One side wants to win at any cost, even if it means destroying democracy. It’s gotten so bad that instead of congratulating the winning team somelosers incite insurrections. Talk about bad sportsmanship.

When Iowa won, the team didn’t gloat over its victory and, equally notable, the Michigan women were polite about the loss. In fact, throughout the game I didn’t see any of the bad behavior we see in Washington DC; there was no anger, no name calling, no power mongering, no obstruction of justice.

I loved watching the basketball game—believe me, no one is as surprised by this as me—so much so that I watched the Big 10 final the next day, going out of my way to drive to a local bar since we don’t have television in our house. It was an even more exciting matchup of two outstanding teams, Iowa and Nebraska, that went into overtime. These women, so confident and self-assured, were also fast, running up and down the full court for two hours, and shooting three-point baskets from well over 25 feet! Talk about girl power!

Fans cheered and waved signs in the arena. One of them, a shout-out to Iowa’s coach, read “Lisa Bluder for President” and it made me think, yes, she is what our country needs. A leader who is focused on strategy and success, but remains cool under pressure. Someone who shows composure, good manners, and kindness, even when falling behind in the score. Someone who knows how to get people to work together, a solid teambuilder. And above all, a woman.

Bluder obviously won’t be running for president, but in the future, should Caitlin Clark or any of her Hawkeye teammates run for office, I would support them. Because even at their young ages, they display the maturity, problem-solving skills, and unity that could keep our democracy intact.

In the meantime, I am looking forward to the women’s March Madness NCAA tournament next week. Because what made me finally appreciate basketball, screeching shoes and all, was the pure feminine energy.

To quote the late Supreme Court justice Sandra Day O’Connor, “As society sees what women can do, as women see what women can do, there will be more women out there doing things, and we’ll all be better off for it.”

If I am a fan of anything, it’s seeing women doing things for the good of the world, like these young basketball players setting a noble example. 

When my World Piece book tour finished in March, I had no idea what I was going to do next. I did know, however, that writing World Piece was so taxing I didn’t want to write another book anytime soon. All I knew is that I wanted—needed—a new creative goal, one that would push me to learn new things.

My final event on the book tour was in Tucson, and the weather so was ideal and the hiking trails so accessible, I extended my stay a few extra weeks. I hiked every day. Hiking is a way to let my mind rest, to let go of stress, and to make room for new ideas to develop. I hiked and hiked and hiked, climbing up steep mountains (perhaps to get a little closer to God?!), and eventually a new idea did come. The voice was strong and clear—and scary. (Well, I did say I wanted a new challenge, which can come with a side of fear.)

Make a documentary film about pie, it said.

I know from past experiences that when that voice speaks, I have to listen, and I did.
First, I looked into summer filmmaking workshops. Nothing fit into my schedule, my location, or my budget so I decided I’d just throw myself into it and do my own crash course.

I wanted the film to be about pie all around the country (like the TV series I have been trying to sell since 2010, which I wrote about in my first book, Making Piece.) How fun would that be to do a summer road trip filming pie stories? But at the time Peanut, our Chihuahua rescue, was very sick. She had congestive heart failure and I wanted to stay close to home to be around for her. That’s how I determined my documentary would focus only on Iowa.

My first call was to former Des Moines Register columnist, Kyle Munson. He spent years covering stories in all 99 counties, so if anyone knows a good Iowa story, it’s him. I asked him to help me resolve my dilemma: focus on the pie competition of the Iowa State Fair or the pies of RAGBRAI? He suggested that RAGBRAI was the stronger story as it has a beginning (at the Missouri River) and an end (the Mississippi River). Given he rides in the annual bike ride across Iowa every year, it could be that he had a bias, but I initially agreed with him. Still, my gut was nagging me, something about it just didn’t feel completely right . . . until I remembered RAYGUN Shirts’ “Pieowa” graphic on a postcard. It suddenly became clear: I would focus on the culture of pie in Iowa as a whole and call it Pieowa!

The idea took shape in early May, and by May 18, I was doing my first shoot.

This past Tuesday, November 28 — 8,000 miles, probably as many pies, countless panicked calls to my various mentors, and 5 Terabytes of footage later (as well as the burial of our beloved Peanut in early June) — we finished the final day of shooting. Ironically, it was with an editor for BHG and took place in the test kitchen at Meredith Publishing, where I taught a pie class that life-changing summer of 2010, before I had any notion of staying in Iowa, let alone moving into the American Gothic House and opening the Pitchfork Pie Stand.

What a journey making this documentary has been! I get choked up thinking about it. These past months have been jam-packed with traveling, meeting new people, hearing scores of stories—many of them unexpectedly emotional—and reviewing hours of footage. (And there was that time I sobbed for 2 and 1/2 days when I discovered some of that irreplaceable footage was overexposed. I hadn’t cried that hard since Marcus died!) I should be exhausted, but instead I’m energized.

I’ve never made a feature-length documentary. I’ve never hired a film crew. I’ve never been a film director/producer. I didn’t know anything about “shooting in log” or how many frames per second to set the camera to or how to light an interview subject or that I needed to get anyone who appears in the film to sign a talent release. But thanks to many generous filmmakers who shared their knowledge, countless how-to YouTube videos, and one exceptionally useful TEDx talk, I learned what I needed in order to “just do the next thing.” That became my mantra for the past six months and it kept me from getting overwhelmed—though it didn’t keep me from having many nights of insomnia thinking about the project.

The next “just do the next thing” is organizing all the footage we shot and wrangling it into a narrative, to tell the story of pie in Iowa. There is so much good stuff to tell, I can’t wait to get started on this next phase.

In the coming months, I’ll be pushing myself to learn even more new things, like how to edit in Adobe Premiere. I’ll assemble a rough cut myself, and when I get it far enough along, I’ll hire a professional film editor to turn it into the best film it can be. I hope to have a film to show you by June. In the meantime, here’s a little practice segment I edited. I have a lot to learn, and luckily I have a few editor friends on speed-dial to help.

No matter how the film turns out, I’m proud of myself for trying and for getting this far. I hope my efforts inspire others to pursue whatever that idea or challenge might be. Life is short. Don’t put it off, just go for it.

We are making a documentary film called “Pieowa“ about the obsession with pie in Iowa. Really. People are so obsessed with pie they will ride their bikes 500 miles, braving sweltering heat and headwinds over 7 days, just so they can eat it every day! As part of the film we will be covering this event, called RAGBRAI (the Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa, now in its 50th year!) and the multitude of pies along the route. We’ve identified 37 pie vendors (LISTED BELOW) but surely there are more. Sounds like a lot? Not when you consider there are 30,000 hungry people on bikes to feed. We will be following teams like TEAM NPR (aka No Pie Refused, veteran reporters from National Public Radio riding for their 10th year), TEAM PIE HUNTER (you can spot them by the giant pieces of pie they’re wearing on their heads, each one a different kind of pie), TEAM PIEORITIES (guess what their priorities are), and TEAM CHERRY (sisters paying homage to the cherry tree in their childhood backyard and thus their favorite pie.) There’s also “Dr. Pie,” a veterinarian from Indiana riding for the 14th time whose bike jersey touts “Pedaling for a Piece.” “Six pieces a day is my limit,” he told me. “Seven is too many.”

Want to be in the film? Come find us at the designated locations (highlighted in RED below) to share your pie story on camera. Or go to https://theworldneedsmorepie.com/pieowa/ and follow the prompts to upload your own pie-related video.

If you are participating in RAGBRAI, let us know about other pie vendors you found during the ride. Tell us how many pies you ate, what your favorites were, and how pie enhanced your RAGBRAI experience. Email us at pieowa@campdoughproductions.com

THE LIST: 7 DAYS OF PIE ACROSS IOWADAY ONE: Sunday – Sioux City to Storm Lake – 5 pie locationsKingsleySalem Lutheran church stand, 2 blocks up main street. Proceeds go to the Food  Bank of Siouxland and local schools Packback food programs.WashtaWashta Fire DepartmentQuimby Community Center, 7 organizations uniting to make pies (WE ARE FILMING HERE)Storm Lake United Methodist Church. 212 E 3rd St., serving pie with supperColumbus Club Hall, 1507 E Lakeshore Dr, Storm Lake. Pie served at spaghetti dinner.
DAY TWO: Monday – Storm Lake to Carroll – 6 pie locationsLake ViewAll 3 churches in Lake View (Emmanuel, UCC and Methodist) combining efforts. On Main Street.Wall Lake Lions ClubBredaKay’s Korner, 201 Main St. (WE ARE FILMING HERE)Breda Golf ClubCarrollRenew Covenant Church, 601 N Main Street (on the corner of Main and Hwy 30)Central Church of Carroll, 712 Quint Ave.
DAY THREE: Tuesday – Carroll to Ames – 7 pie locationsGliddenDeAnn’s Sweets & TeesMerle Hay American Legion Post #386 and the Legion AuxiliaryRippeyHome Slice Pie (with Iowa Beer Bus), 310 Main Street, Rippey * (WE ARE FILMING HERE)Pies and Pastries by Lana — in vendor area *Methodist Church, 103 W. Main St.LutherWhatcha Smokin, 403 Iowa Ave.Ames First United Methodist Church, 516 Kellogg Ave. Hamballs dinner with church lady pies (or bars). 4PM – 7PM (WE ARE FILMING HERE)
DAY FOUR: Wednesday – Ames to Des Moines – 7 pie locationsSlaterHelping Hands of Slater, 416 Main St.MadridHome Slice Pie (with Iowa Beer Bus) 2111-330th St. *St. Paul’s ChurchPies and Pastries by Lana *Once Upon an Apple Pie, Flat Tire Lounge, just off high trestle trail *Polk CityCenter Grove Orchards, vendor booths #16 and 17Des MoinesPie Mates Australian Bakehouse at Confluence Brewery, 1235 Thomas Beck Rd., 11AM to 9PM. (Meat-filled hand pies.) *
DAY FIVE: Thursday – Des Moines to Tama-Toledo – 8 pie locationsAltoonaPie Mates Australian Bakehouse at Spring Creek Sports Complex, 7600 NE 38th Ave. from 5AM to noon. (Meat-filled hand pies.) *ColfaxChristian Church, 101 N. Locust St.Newton Gezellig Brewing Co., 403 W 4th St N. — Des Moines Area Community College Culinary Institute is selling hand pies starting at 8AM.KelloggAmboy Grange and First Christian Church, 220 High Street (vendor booth)GrinnellUnited Methodist Church, in Central ParkMontour (10 Miles before Tama-Toledo)Amish piesTama-ToledoSt. Paul’s Lutheran Church, 700 Harmon, TamaThe Iowa Pie Lady, Laura Bru, starting at 2PM, set up in park in Toledo. *
DAY SIX: Friday – Tama-Toleda to Coralville – 3 pie locationsChelseaIowa Fruit Pies vendor (as well as local non-profits) selling pie, 303 Station St.AmanaAmana Fire Dept., 2725 K St.OxfordOxford Fire Station (pies made by St. Mary’s Catholic Church)
DAY SEVEN: Saturday – Coralville to Davenport – 1 pie locationMuscatineCombined churches — Pie concession stand, The Red Brick Building (waterfront)

Look for an article about “The Pie Trail of RAGBRAI” in the Des Moines Register on Sunday, July 23.

Valerie Van Galder is the creator of the Depressed Cake Shop. Cake may not be pie, but I’m a fan of anything that’s baked for a greater good. The DCS website, which is beautifully designed, reads, “Research has shown that baking is a pursuit that fits a type of therapy known as behavioral activation. Psychologists have discovered that the simple act of baking and sharing your bakes improves one’s sense of well-being.” AMEN TO THAT!

Valerie and I first connected a few years ago through our mutual goals in baking to heal the world. An award-winning marketing genius for film studios, Val had lost her dad to mental illness when she found out about a pop-up bake sale in London called the Depressed Cake Shop, created by Emma Thomas. Val took what had been a one-time event and built it into an international platform to bring bakers and mental health activists together. The pop-ups have proliferated, with the bake sales selling out of their conversation-starting cookies and cupcakes—when you see desserts frosted with gray icing and decorated with sad faces, it prompts questions.

Because one in four people will suffer from, or be touched by, a mental health issue at some point in their lives, we definitely need more bake sales—and to be baking more! Which is what we did at Val’s house during my recent stay in LA. Her new assistant, Devi, was there too—along with Val’s sidekick, Hazel, the quietest, most affectionate beagle I’ve ever met.

Devi, a young and bright beauty with Indian roots and an interest in a career in entertainment, was hired to help with DCS’s social media and create videos. So she set up her camera to tape the pie-making process, not realizing that she was going to be the one making the pie. Val kept an eye on the camera and lobbed questions at me while I instructed Devi in making and rolling the dough, loading the pie shell with apples, crimping the crust, all the way through to putting the pie in the oven.

Val saw our leftover dough and said, “We can make Depressed Cake Shop crust cookies!” She jumped into action, pulling out her cloud-shaped cookie cutters, gray-colored sugar and candy eyeballs. The symbolism of the clouds was obvious. But the eyeballs? Huh?

Val explained, “Matt Groening, the creator of The Simpsons once told me that the characters’ eyes looked the way they did so that they would always look slightly anxious. When I put [the eyes] on Oreos, ‘Anxious Oreos’ were born and the rest is history. Now we put googly eyes on everything!” Her Anxious Oreos, the chocolate sandwich cookies dipped in gray-colored chocolate, are a pop-up staple.

In between checking on the pie in the oven, I looked around Val’s kitchen. On the wall was a framed watercolor with a handwritten phrase that read:

“There are things you do because they feel right and they may make no sense and they make no money and it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other and to eat each other’s cooking and say it was good.”

“This is exactly what I believe,” I told Val. Just seeing this hanging prominently in her house underscored why we had become friends.

“Yes, it’s so true, isn’t it?” she replied.

Then I remembered. “Val, this artist is from Decorah, Iowa!”

I shouldn’t have been surprised by finding a morsel of Iowa in Val’s Santa Monica, California kitchen. These kinds of coincidences and connections happened throughout my World Piece trip around the world. We are all connected by invisible threads that too often we don’t realize are holding us together. It’s when those filaments come into view that barriers are broken down, replaced by a sense of belonging. Whether it’s discovering you have mutual friends when you’re halfway around the world or just spotting the work of an artist from your home state when you’re halfway across the country.

I confess I was a little down when I showed up at Val’s doorstep that afternoon. Maybe I was overtired from all the driving I’d been doing in LA’s white-knuckle traffic or from trying to cram in as many meetings and events (not just book promo) as I could—but after making that pie, I was in such a good mood! Val, who hadn’t been feeling well after getting both a flu shot and Covid booster that morning, said the same thing.

“Pie is comfort. Pie heals,” I always preach. And as Val states on her website, “The simple act of baking and sharing your bakes improves one’s sense of well-being.” Here we were, administering our own medicine on ourselves.

As for Devi, based on her high-beam smile radiating in the photos as she held up her first homemade pie, she was probably the happiest of the bunch. “I can’t wait to send these pictures to my dad,” she said.

We cut into the pie when it was still piping hot, not caring if we scorched our tongues. We savored each bite in a celebration of our joint effort. “The real reason we are here: to love each other and to eat each other’s cooking and say it was good.”

“This is so good,” we all kept saying. So very, very good.

*****

To learn more about the work of Depressed Cake Shop and organize your own pop-up to support mental health, go to the DCS website.

To get a “Real Reason” print and see more from this Iowa artist, check out the StoryPeople website.

This is the second post from my October/November 2022 California WORLD PIECE book tour, with more to come. Read the first one: The Power of One Pie

I’ve been seeing a lot of pie sellers’ posts on social media announcing they’re not taking any more pie orders for Thanksgiving, that they’re sold out. Didn’t order your pie in time? DON’T PANIC! You can make your own and I promise it will turn out fine. Making dough is easier than you think. Here’s my basic dough recipe and 10 tips to get you through.

Basic Pie Crust

2-1/2 cups all-purpose flour + another 3/4 cup for rolling surface
1/2 cup butter, chilled
1/2 cup Crisco (or lard or butter, your choice)
1/2 teaspoon salt
Ice water (fill one cup but use only enough to moisten dough)

In a deep bowl, work the butter and shortening into the flour with your hands until you see marble-sized lumps form. Think mixed nuts, like peanut and almonds. Add ice water a little at a time, tossing it around the flour with your hands as if they’re salad tongs. Keep your movements light. When the dough feels moistened enough, do a “squeeze test” and when it holds together you’re done. Do not overwork the dough! You are not kneading it like bread. It takes very little time and you’ll be tempted to keep touching it, but don’t! Now divide the dough in two, form each half into a disk shape. (Coat your hands with flour to keep dough from sticking to them.) On a clean, dry workspace, sprinkle flour under and on top of your dough. Roll flat and thin to the point you can almost see through it. (Keep rolling surface and pin free from gunk to keep dough from sticking.) Carefully peel dough off surface into a half-moon, then place halfway across pie dish and unfold it, gently pressing air out from underneath. Trim excess dough to about 1 inch from the dish edge with a scissors.

TEN TIPS

ONE — When you’re mixing your (chilled) butter and shortening in with the flour, just use your fingertips to massage it all together. Leave it chunky like mixed nuts. This is quicker than you think, so don’t think you have to keep working it.
 
TWO — Add as much water as you need for the dough to hold together. Don’t bother measuring it one spoonful at a time, just drizzle the water in and toss it around like your hands are human salad tongs. If it’s too crumbly, then it’s too dry. Add more water.  (Water does not make dough tough, overworking it does.)
 
THREE — When you go to divide your dough and form it into a disk, coat your hands with flour to take the stickiness out of it. It’s so much easier to handle this way!
 
FOUR — When you roll out the dough, make sure you have a clean and dry workspace.

FIVE — To keep dough from sticking, sprinkle flour under and on top of your disk of dough. Once you start rolling, periodically sprinkle more flour.
 
SIX — Stop and scrape the gunk off your rolling pin if your dough is sticking. Rub flour on the rolling pin if it gets greasy.
 
SEVEN — Clean the gunk off your workspace in between crusts. A bench scraper is a helpful tool for this. (It’s like a rectangular metal spatula with no handle.) You can get these for $1.25 at Dollar Tree. The scraper is also useful for lifting your dough off the surface when you’re ready to move it to your pie dish.

This is a Bench Scraper (I call it a Dough Scraper)From my cookbook, MS. AMERICAN PIE

EIGHT — Don’t fuss with foil around the rim of your pie. If it’s getting too brown, that means your oven is too hot, so just turn the temp down.
 
NINE — For my pumpkin pie, I use the recipe from the label of Libby’s pumpkin puree; it’s on the label. And for pecan pie, I use the recipe on the Karo (light) syrup label.
 
TEN — Need a gluten-free pie crust? Use 1-to-1 flour to make the same recipe you’d use for any other pie. I made one a few weeks ago with Arrowhead Mills 1-to-1 and it was excellent! You’d never guess it was GF. Don’t worry about the brand.

ORDER A COPY OF MS. AMERICAN PIE
Available on AMAZON

I’ll keep my pie hotline open, so if you’re in need of urgent help, you can email or message me. Beth (at) theworldneedsmorepie (dot) com — Facebook Pie Page

RELAX AND HAVE A HAPPY THANKSGIVING!