written by Thor Erickson | photography by Tambi Lane
It was along that winding stretch of road that follows the McKenzie River—Highway 126—that we came across the place, though “came across” isn’t quite right. It felt like we were meant to stop there all along—as if the universe knew we hadn’t packed enough snacks.
It had already been a full day. A warm one—the kind of late-spring day where the heat settles in early and lingers whether you invited it or not. I’d gone with my friend April to Eugene to pick up an espaliered pear tree she’d been hunting for, destined for the yard of her newly purchased house. We took her pickup, windows down, warm air rushing in—the Oregon road-trip smells: green grass, hot metal and just a hint of poor decision-making.
April likes to talk—a lot—especially about landscaping plans for her new digs. By the time we’d picked up the tree and tied it down in the back, we were both a little tired, a little hungry and open to distraction.
On the way back, somewhere near Vida, with the river not far off and tall trees lining the road, we spotted the pie shop. Nothing fancy—just a weathered little building that looked like it had outlasted better ideas. April said, “We should stop,” and I agreed immediately, which is unusual for me unless food is involved.
We pulled over, the truck ticking as it cooled, and stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the ceiling—dollar bills, hundreds of them, pinned up overhead. They hung there like leaves, each one marked with names, dates and the occasional message suggesting someone had enjoyed their pie very much. It felt like walking into a place where everyone before you had already given their approval—and possibly their last spare dollar. Then came the smell: butter, sugar, baked fruit—warm and steady—the best kind of welcome.
Behind the counter stood the woman making the pies. She moved with the ease that comes from doing something long enough that it stops being work and becomes rhythm. Her hands were the first thing I no-ticed—broad, worn, dusted with flour, marked with small lines and scars from years well spent. Hands that got things done.
She worked as if it were second nature. Dough rolled smoothly under her palms—no fuss, no hesitation. I’ve seen people struggle more assembling a sandwich. She didn’t rush, but she didn’t waste a motion either. Watching her, I got the sense that pie-making wasn’t something she did—it was something that simply happened wherever she happened to be standing.
Then came the smell: butter, sugar, baked fruit—warm and steady—the best kind of welcome.
“Afternoon,” she said, easy and friendly, like she’d said it a thousand times and meant it every time.
We said hello and leaned on the counter, watching. April, who’d spent the morning mapping out soil conditions and pear placement like she was planning a small orchard empire, went quiet for a while, just taking it all in.
The woman filled a crust with bright red rhubarb, the color catching the light. Simple ingredients, but the way she handled them made it seem like we’d all been overcomplicating things our whole lives.
“Been bakin’ these a long time” she said. “Still turns out”
Still turns out. Like it was a coin toss she kept winning.
We ordered a couple of slices and sat down. The crust flaked apart just right, and the filling struck that perfect balance—tart and sweet, sharp but comforting. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t need to be.
It was the kind of pie that makes you pause mid-bite and reconsider every store-bought dessert you’ve ever defended.
After a while, it was time to get back on the road. We climbed into the truck and kept going, a little quieter than before—in that good way. The sun had dipped just enough to make things pleasant.
It stuck with me, though—watching someone who knows their craft that well, who makes it look that easy. It’s what inspires others to try to do the same.
Now, I’m not saying mine will turn out the same. I’ve spent enough time in the kitchen to understand humility. But still—I need to make a rhubarb pie.
Rhubarb Pie
SERVES 6-8
Ingredients:
FOR THE CRUST
- 8 ounces all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
- ½ ounce sugar
- 1 teaspoon Diamond Crystal kosher salt
- 8 ounces unsalted butter, chilled
- 4 ounces cold tap water
FOR THE FILLING
- 5 cups evenly sliced rhubarb, about ⅓-inch thick
- 1¼ cups sugar
- 3 tablespoons corn starch
- ½ teaspoon allspice*
- ½ teaspoon cinnamon*
- ½ teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1½ tablespoons butter
- 1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)
- 1-2 tablespoons sugar (for topping the pie)
*Chef’s note: In this recipe, the addition of allspice and cinnamon combine with the rhubarb for a smoky note. If you want the pure rhubarb vibe, leave them out.
Instructions:
FOR THE CRUST
- Whisk flour, sugar and salt together in a medium bowl. Cut butter into cubes no smaller than ½ inch, and toss with flour mixture to break up the pieces. With your fingertips, smash each cube flat—no rubbing or cutting.
- Stir in water, and then knead dough against the sides of the bowl until it comes together in a shaggy ball. Refrigerate briefly before rolling and folding.
- Make the layers: On a generously floured work surface, roll dough into a roughly 10-by-15-inch rectangle. Fold the sides to the center, and then close the newly formed packet like a book. Fold in half once more, bringing the short sides together to create a thick block. Divide in half with a sharp knife, and refrigerate.
- Meanwhile, make the pie filling.
FOR THE FILLING
- Mix rhubarb and all other filling ingredients except for butter in a large mixing bowl, and stir until well blended.
- Roll out the bottom pie crust, and press into the pie pan. Add the rhubarb blend, and dot the top of the rhubarb mix with small pieces of butter.
- Roll the top pie crust, place over the pie filling and crimp into place. Cut steam vents around the pie.
- With a pastry brush or your fingers, egg wash the top of the crust, and then sprinkle sugar over the pie. Chill in the refrigerator for a minimum of 30 minutes before placing in the oven.
- During the time the pie is chilling, heat the oven to 425 degrees.
- Place pie on a baking sheet to catch spills. Bake for 20 minutes at 425 degrees, and then lower the heat to 350 degrees for about 25 more minutes. If the edges of the crust get too brown, cover lightly with aluminum foil. The pie will be ready when the fruit is soft and juices begin to bubble.
- Cool pie on a cooling rack. Serve warm, plain or with ice cream or whipped cream.
