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As we accepted our prize, I realized that it wasn't just about the pie; it was about the love, effort, and unity that went into making it. This day, September 25, 2021, was a reminder of the importance of family, tradition, and working together towards a common goal.

The grainy footage showed the old farmhouse kitchen, ten years ago. She was fifteen, all sharp elbows and borrowed flannel, standing next to her stepbrothers, Leo and Finn. They were seventeen and eighteen—tall, sunburned from the autumn harvest, and infuriatingly smug.

The “MyFamilyPies” digital archive was a mess.

She clicked it.

Andi was not an island. She was a shoreline—where older siblings’ conventions washed out and something new took hold. Her hair was cropped like a decision, her clothes frequently mismatched on purpose, and she carried an old camera like a talisman. She loved pie, but not for the sweetness; for the making of it—the crust, the measuring, the tactile reassurance of flour under fingernails. She called my mother "Maeve" in a voice that made the name softer.

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