My mother used to joke that she could barely find the kitchen when she and my father were married more than 60 years ago. Over the years, she sharpened her culinary skills so that by the time I was old enough to notice, she had made peace with the gas stove in the kitchen of our Indiana farm home.

Her specialities included pineapple pie, a recipe I’ve always thought she created because the only other time I’ve ever run across it was several years ago at Ellsworth’s Saturday morning Farmers Market.

At least that was the case until a couple of weeks ago when I stopped by Piper’s Fine Foods in Marquette. There, next to the store’s popular strawberry-rubarb pie, was a pineapple pie — the kind my mother used to make.

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