Tomato Pie and Great Views

Aside from the depressing brown tile and behind the times melon and pears wall paper, our historical home kitchen has great stuff in it. For one thing, there is a large kitchen window framing a park like setting of leafy maples and vines hugging our neighbors late 1800s home. The kitchen window view repaints itself with each passing season. The maples turn bright orange and red in Fall. In Spring, the vines wander with buds that look like little wedding bells. Chopping tomatoes now, in summer, for tomato pies was never so beautiful facing a scene of squirrels winding up large trunked trees.
My Mother was overjoyed about my deep as a water well old fashioned kitchen sink. "This will accommodate everything, big pots, whatever, now you have room!" she said smoothing her hands over the sink like it was a Channel gown. But I remember our realtor standing there by that sink trying to sell us this house to us a while back. She was remarking over the sink like my Mother was. I was embarrassed for her. All I could see was the old tile and the unattractive shabbiness of a room in neglect.
Later, in the walk through of our home, I swung open the large kitchen pantry door to spy a little rectangular window inside capturing some more views of the leafy trees out and a patch of blue sky. I closed the door and eased my eyes up to the tall ceilings and wide crown molding above. It was all different somehow that day, while I turned around in the room I'd soon be stirring sweet tea in. I felt like I was standing in a vivid bright country field with the southern sunshine pouring through the wide window over the old fashioned sink.
"I like this kitchen," I told our realtor and she looked at me knowing the look. She had seen it before. I had really fallen in love, it was more than like, and there was no stopping me.