My grandmother and grandfather lived in Montgomery, Alabama while I was growing up. Once a year my parents would load Kim and me into the car to make the long journey to visit my Mom’s parents and her sisters, who had decamped with their families to the South. We drove from Belpre, Ohio to Montgomery to visit with my grandparents, then to Savannah, Georgia (where my Aunt Barbara lived), then to Beaufort, South Carolina (where my Aunt Jackie lived), and then home again, stopping along the way to take in various historical sights and National Parks (including Mammoth Cave – fun!).

It was a long journey that involved multiple stays at Howard Johnsons, which for Kim and me was as exciting as anything – eating ice cream, swimming in the pool, having blueberry pancakes for breakfast, counting VW Beetles in the parking lot. But the highlight was pulling into Gibson Court in Montgomery and seeing my Grandmother’s smiling face, knowing that she’d made a Million Dollar Pie just for me.

So southern; so delicious. My grandparents had a small, modest house at the end of a cul-de-sac. The house was small, but the yard was huge.

The expansive back yard was encircled with a chain link fence, covered in morning glories. Plum trees were planted along the north side of the fence, and when we visited in the summer the trees would be heavy with fruit. I would pluck plums and eat to my heart’s content, resting in the shade of the trees. The back yard was park-like, landscaped with an incredible variety of unfamiliar flora, so different from the types of things that grew in Belpre, Ohio. It was humid and the air was thick and sweet. The front yard was small, but there was a beautiful pecan tree growing beside the house. It was all so lush.

I would always cry as we backed out of the driveway to continue our annual tour. Such a sentimental (whiny) child.

And I always preferred Grandma’s Million Dollar Pie to cake growing up, even on my birthday.