For The Love Of Pie
During the fair, I filled myself with pies. Coconut cream, apple crumble, mixed berry, lemon meringue—it was the quintessential comfort food and I was indeed comforted by it. Pie had helped me make it through Marcus’ D-day without completely falling apart, and left me in a stronger frame of mind after the fair to take a little road trip to explore my roots in southeastern Iowa.
I passed a sign for a tourist attraction that read “American Gothic House, 6 Miles.” It was one of those brown national monument signs, which sparked a memory of another solo road trip I took nine years earlier when I came across a similar brown sign—one that would lead me to meeting Marcus. I was on my way from Los Angeles to Oregon to explore the possibility of moving to Bend. “Crater Lake National Park, 10 Miles,” the sign read. Crater Lake was not on my itinerary—and between the time I saw the sign and came upon the exit, I had talked myself out of taking the detour. But at the last second, I turned my steering wheel to the right and my destiny was forever changed.
I met Marcus in the lobby of the Crater Lake Lodge when we were both on our way out. After eyeing each other, he ventured the first question: “Are you staying here?” He spoke with a sexy British accent, mixed with something European. He was German, with broad shoulders, almondshaped green eyes, dark hair and defined cheekbones. “No, I tried to get a room, but they were sold out,” I replied. Our conversation continued as we stepped outside into the crisp night air. Standing in the parking lot, under a dark black sky filled with brilliant, twinkling stars, I knew this guy was special. We got married two years later.