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Old rolling pins

In the antique store on the corner of Franklin and Main, among cut glass candy dishes and earthenware moonshine jugs, were rolling pins.  Wooden, dinged, well-used.  In each room they were stashed in groups of three or four, standing on end in a tin bucket, or displayed like vintage wines on an iron rack.  Their handles were worn smooth from a grandmother’s floured grip rolling pie crusts, rolling cookies, pounding nuts to crack them open or crumble them to dust.  The pins had history, were golden with the oils and warmth of caring hands.

Or of drudging ones.  How many of these were wielded as weapons?  How many mothers chased a drunken husband with one, or a naughty child, Mother’s hair wild, curls coming loose from her braid in the hot kitchen where soup bubbled and the steam made her hair sproing?

Looking at these pins, inanimate now, tucked under a harvest table in an antique shop, I saw love and work.  I saw fleshy palms and red cheeks, flour poofs and golden pastry.  I saw Christmas Eve with shiny copper cookie cutters shaped like stars and candy canes.  I saw meat pies and bubbles through slits in the crust.  I saw buttery dough with rough edges as strong feminine forearms, muscled like Popeye’s on spinach, rolled, pressed, and turned the smooth sheet.  A bosom heaved, and there may have been grunting if the dough was too tough.  The pin would clank on the counter, the handles would rattle.  Children would sneak corners and pinch edges off, and nibble and giggle while Mom raised the wooden pin, “Don’t you touch that crust!”  And she’d try to look mean and menacing, but it was Christmas and she’d break down and start giggling too.

How many stories were in these wooden pins?  Were they all from Virginia?  Maybe some traveled here from Appalachian Ohio, or West Virginia.  Maybe even from Minnesota, like me.  Would I feel their history if I touched them?  If I bought one and used it – that honey one there, with handles so polished with use they fairly gleamed – would my pies and cookies be enchanted?  The pins looked smooth to touch, and they were comforting in their roundness.  I could cup my hand around a cylinder and run it down the pin’s length.  Would it be cool or warm in this antique shop?  Would it tell me a story?

A resolution that came out of my writing workshop was to take an artist’s day out every week.  Last week I visited Antiques on Main in Christiansburg, VA where the rolling pins caught my eye and inspired this piece. 

16 thoughts on “Old rolling pins”

    1. Thanks E. I was inspired today and dove into making a shorbread crust for apple pie. Big mistake. Unpliable dough that kept tearing,, impossible to move, hair flying as I tried to roll it out. It is finally in the oven after much swearing. It may be the ugliest pie I’ve ever made, but if the raw dough is any indication, it may also be the most delicious.

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      1. an easy apple crisp….sliced apples, drizzle maple syrup over apples, some cinnamon and nutmeg, top with a crumbly mixture of flour, oatmeal, butter, cinnamon, nutmeg and more maple syrup.. I improvised the amounts, used a small greased 8×8 glass oven proof dish ( about 3/4 c flour, 1/2 c oatmeal, 1/2 cup generous maple syrup total, 1/2 generous butter, spice to taste)…tasted like a very good pie and no rolled crust…depends on apples used too….I used macintosh right off the tree here…wow!….tip, don’t over do the flour…improvise!

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  4. Absolutely lovely. That just touched the core of this mommy’s heart, a heart that yearns to create a nostalgic childhood memories and scents for my kiddos built around the family’s kitchen!

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  5. two great ideas – the artist’s day out (thanks for that!) and the stories spun from a rolling pin. i actually still use my mother’s – needed new handles so my kids obliged me. there is definitely magic in the miles it has rolled over the decades. ‘Looking at these pins, inanimate now, tucked under a harvest table in an antique shop, I saw love and work.’ beautiful. thanks so much.

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    1. Yes, the artist’s day out is my new favorite thing. This piece came from a “rolling pins” writing prompt in my workshop, and every piece was incredibly evocative, and so warm and comforting. Lots of Mom and Grandma memories. There is magic in rolling pins, I have no doubt.

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