I have a small collection of pie baskets.
Some have lids, some not; one is decorated with small hand painted strawberries; another has a wooden tray stained with the juice of berries from a pie made long ago; all are square.
These treasures seem to show up most often at antique sales.
I was invited to tag along to a sale late last winter.
I wasn’t expecting to come home with anything but at the end of the first aisle, I looked over in the corner to see a beautiful old lidded basket.
Shyly and patiently peering out from beneath the rolling pins, pancake turners and other kitchen utensils displayed in her, I gently emptied her out and picked her up. She felt comfortably familiar.
“This is mine,” I said to the very kind woman who seemed delighted that I was so taken with the basket.
We settled up and I placed well worn handles over my arm.
The most surprising moment was when I was asked just what I would do with the basket.
She was put back into service that very afternoon carrying a still warm heritage apple pie to a potluck.