Pie Town party

We came to Pie Town for the pies and fell in love with the people.

But first, we were smitten by the scrumptious slices in The Pie-O-Neer Cafe. About mid-afternoon on June 17, we veered into the gravel parking lot, happy the place was still open but afraid no pie was left. Research had indicated the restaurant normally closed at 3 p.m., or when the pie was gone. As we scrambled in, a firefighter returning to battle the huge Wallow blaze to the southwest shouted that he had eaten the last slice.

Fortunately for him, he was kidding.

We burst in, a dirty, excited family, and immediately ordered four pieces of pie. I almost forgot my original plan and returned to the car for my Moody’s Diner “Pie Fixes Everything” shirt.

Between bites, out poured our tale: the blog, the miles, the deep affinity for pie that led to our pie-grammage. Elsewhere, people might have slowly backed away. Not in a quirky desert town friendly to the core: We made instant friends.

We were pie freaks, at home among kindred souls.

If the pie had been mediocre, fine, the stop still would have been memorable. But this was no average pie. This was all-world, 9th-degree-black-belt, grandmaster pie.

Owner and piemeister Kathy Knapp bakes no less.

We should know. That afternoon, we consumed nine of her slices. I took care of three: chocolate cream, tart cherry and coconut cream. We also sampled blueberry, peach crumb, apple and berry. Each was heavenly. Michele still rules the pie world, in our humble opinion, but she has finally met her match.

As a bonus treat, during our pie-fest, we carried with the next table if we all had known each other for years. There was Nita Larronde, originally from Hawaii and Malibu, who had moved to Pie Town more than 30 years ago and raised five children. With her were two local authors: Thea Marshall, a romance novelist, and Uncle River, a science fiction and nonfiction writer.

Nita, her laptop out, read our blog and asked about Moody’s and Maine. Thea and Uncle River talked about their writing and Pie Town, later signing books for us. In her baker’s hat and apron, Kathy told us about the cafe and her baking. All the while, we smiled crumbly grins. We were enamored with Pie Town, and it with us.

More than a hour passed that way. Michele sat down with Nita to chat. Thea sat down with John Michael, Ted and me for a great conversation about archaeo-astronomy and romance and mystery plots.

Pie Town may love pie, but it’s not a crusty place.

We had planned to eat our fill and move eastward on Highway 60. Instead, we spent the night — not in the Pie-O-Neer, as delicious as that might have been, but at the Toaster House. Perhaps charmed by our exuberant gluttony, Nita invited us to stay in her former house. She now lives elsewhere in town and runs a free hostel, taking in cross-country cyclists and hikers trekking the nearby Continental Divide Trail.

So after paying our pie check, we drove a mile over to the Toaster, so named for the old toasters decorating the front gate. There was nobody home, and we just walked right in. Next door at the Pie Town RV Park, we took free showers, courtesy of the owner. We left a bill in the donation jar anyway.

That night, we had the Toaster House to ourselves. We cooked spaghetti on the antique wood-fired stove, admired the stars from the car seats bolted to the deck and rolled out our sleeping bags on mattresses in a bedroom. Before going to sleep, the boys made card houses from decks left for hikers.

We needed to fill the toilet’s tank for each flush, thanks to burst pipes from an extremely cold winter. But we couldn’t have asked for nicer accomodations -- and a more welcoming town.