The Innisfree no. 8: The Grain Moon Pie, A Tale of Mister Pawpaw

"Untitled" Digital collage by Tres Crow, circa 2005

On the edge of the village of The Innisfree there is a grove of Pawpaw trees. The grove is about 1/4 acre wide as it is long, and it's criss-crossed by bare dirt paths that orchard keepers carved out a long time back. In the spring when the pouting purple lips of the flower split open and released their rancid scent, people would usually avoid that part of town. A Pawpaw here or there in a garden or personal orchard was one thing, but when you put this many together the stench could be over-powering.

Cinnamon preferred the grove during this time though. The smell never bothered her much, and besides she always brought a handkerchief to hold over her face if it was. She appreciated the quiet of the summer months, when she could sit in the cool of one of the many nooks carved out by teenagers past, just off the many paths. The flies also weren't so bad in here, preoccupied as they were with the sweet putrescence of the Pawpaw flower. She'd bring a book or her knitting and she'd sit in the shade and wonder.

One day in the June of her 15th year, Cinnamon was sitting in the grove, in a particularly well-hidden hidey-hole deep in the thick of it. Flies buzzed around her but none bit her. She was knitting a cap for her young nephew, who'd lost his in the creek last winter. Just then she heard a snap of branches from only a few yards off. She froze and held up her knitting needles like knives. Another branch snapped, this time even closer. Her breath caught, and she stood up. There was a shuffling, and suddenly a short, round man appeared from the path. Cinn wasn't a tall girl but she stood almost a head taller than the man. He had a bright red mustache that was curled at the end, and on top of his head he wore a strange pointed hat with a Pawpaw flower stuck in it. His coat pockets bulged with big black PawPaw seeds, and behind him he carried a hemp sack that equally bulged.

"You scared me," Cinn said, keeping her knitting needles at the ready. "Where'd you come from?"

"I'm very sorry for scaring you, young lady," said the man, and he held out his hand to her. In the middle of his dirty palm was a Pawpaw seed. "I was just checking on my Pawpaw patch."

"Your Pawpaw patch?" asked Cinnamon. "Nobody owns this plot."

The man laughed heartily, and it bounced off the trees around them. It almost sounded like the trees were laughing too. He snatched his hand back and put the seed in his coat pocket. 4 more seeds flopped out onto the ground. He bowed low with his hands outstretched.

"Again, I meant no offense," he said. "I meant only that this is a very special place to me. I've visited it many times, and I'm always so pleased to see if doing so well. Look at the blooms! What a harvest you will have this year!"

He grabbed a few leaves off the nearest tree and stuffed them into his mouth. He grabbed another handful and put them into his pockets. He swallowed and pulled a small flask out of his bag and took a swig. He held it out to Cinnamon.

"Pawpaw hooch?" he asked.

Cinn shook her head no, and started gathering her things.

"Very nice to meet you, Mister...?" she started, holding her knitting tight against her chest.

"Pawpaw! I'm Mister Pawpaw," he replied, pulling his hands out of his pockets to shake her hand, and more seeds spilled out.

Cinn shifted her knitting to one hand and held out her other. They shook hands, and when Cinnamon pulled her hand away there were three seeds in it.

"Oh, I don't..." she started, but again Mister Pawpaw interrupted her.

"It's my treat!" he said. "It's a special variety I made myself. It blooms twice, and its flesh tastes like banana cream! Please, keep them. My gift to you!"

Cinn tried to object but it was clear the man wasn't going to relent, so she stuffed the seeds in her dress pocket, and said her goodbyes. The man just stood where he was and watched her as she disappeared around a bend in the path. She didn't feel quite safe until she popped out of the grove and could see the first smattering of buildings on the ridge. The whole way home she wondered about the strange little man, as she fingered the seeds in her pocket. Several times on the walk she considered throwing them by the way side, but for some reason she kept them. And when she got home she actually found a spot in her small orchard and planted the seeds. She didn't know why. The man had been so earnest. It felt like the right thing to do.

About 8 years later Cinnamon married John Henry Stipple and she became Cinnamon Stipple, a name she never quite got used to. She loved her husband very much, and her father and John Henry and his father and all John Henry's brothers built a home for them in a side lot that sat right in the middle of the two family homes. It wasn't very big as was the custom for newlyweds. But it had a Hickory Tree, lots of blueberry bushes, and room for a kitchen garden. Eventually, Cinnamon and John Henry had 7 children and they moved into Cinn's family home. Her father had passed away by then and there was plenty of room for everyone.

Through all of this, the 3 Pawpaw trees grew tall in the back of the family orchard, until one day they popped their first blooms. They were a creamy white instead of the normal purple, and they smelled like pumpkin pie, and everyone who visited the Stipples remarked on the unusual trees. That fall, when the fruit grew full and dropped from the tree, Cinnamon decided to try her hand at making a Pawpaw pie for the show in the village. Burt and his string players were going to play at Murray's in honor of the Grain Moon, and very few in this part of town wanted to miss it. As she mushed the Pawpaw the scent filled the house, and soon her youngest son came in from the yard and he asked what she was cooking. She told him she was making a pie and that it was for the show that night. He groaned and slunk away to play by the creek. A few minutes later her husband, John Henry came in from the reading room, with a book casually at his side.

"What's that you're cooking?" he asked, sniffing the fragrant air. "It smells fantastic!"

"Yes I know," said Cinn, shooing her husband out of the room.

She put the pie in the oven and the aroma filled the entire house. She heard a knock at her kitchen window, and she threw open the window to find Fredrick, their neighbor. He smelled the air and asked through the window, "What are you cooking?"

"Oh Fred!" Cinn laughed, and closed the window in his face. "It's a pie for the show tonight. See you in a few hours. She heard Fred laugh and scamper away.

When the pie was done and her John Henry and their 7 children were all bundled up to go to the show, Cinn opened the front door to find half the neighborhood in her front garden. At the head of the gaggle was Fred, who stood on the porch looking where he'd been about to knock on the door.

"What is everyone doing here?" asked John Henry, but Cinnamon laughed behind him.

She held up the pie, and the whole crowd gave a big whiff of the sweet aroma all in unison, and then John Henry started to laugh as he understood.

"It smells great, doesn't it!" he said, and everyone murmured their agreement.

Cinnamon walked at the head of the crowd as they marched down the street toward downtown Innisfree and Murray's where everyone was meeting. As they walked, the kids sang songs and clapped their hands to the beat. The parents tried to keep an eye on the rambunctious kids, and the grandparents just laughed and laughed. The path to Murray's went right by the PawPaw patch at the edge of town, and as Cinnamon walked by she saw something move in the shadows. She thought she saw Mister Pawpaw, but she couldn't be sure.

The show was incredible! Burt played so long and so hard that he literally fell over from exhaustion and his oldest son had to take up his part on the drums. Everyone danced and they laughed and they ate enormous amounts of food. But nothing was a bigger hit than Cinnamon's Pawpaw pie, which managed to feed everyone even though it was one little pie. Everyone got a piece, and a few (like Billy Simpson) even got 3-4 pieces. No one could be sure how it was managed, and one or two of the older ladies even started calling it the Grain Moon Miracle Pie of '92, though that never quite stuck.

What did stick, though, was that every year, when her Pawpaws dropped their fruit, Cinnamon would spend all her free time in the kitchen, baking various goods from of her amazing Pawpaw fruit. Most years she'd have to hire the Geraldine from down the street just to fill the orders. Some even came all the way from Allstead down river. But nothing was more popular than her famous Pawpaw pie. It was unlike anything anyone had ever tasted. Some said it was like getting a little sneak peak of heaven.

Cinnamon kept making her pies. Her children grew up and they had children of their own. She grew into a grandmother, and eventually her family helped gather the Pawpaw for her, because her body was too rusted to bear much eight anymore. In her final year of baking Pawpaw pie, she just sat in a chair in the kitchen while her middle daughter Eliza did the hard work. When the first pie came out, Eliza cut a small piece for her mother. Cinnamon took a bite, and she smiled. Her chest swelled with a pride she didn't think was possible.

She reached out and grabbed Eliza's hand.

"This is wonderful, honey." she said. "Thank you."