The first rhubarb pies I ever baked were for my dad's horseshoe gang when I was in my early teens. The assortment of men would pitch into the evening darkness by the light of a portable street lamp (it fit into a designated deep hole in the yard, with a long extension cord that ran into the basement), cheering or harassing each other from lawn chair seating, filling balmy summer nights with hoots and laughter. Later they would come indoors to smoke cigars, play cards and eat a snack, sometimes rhubarb pie. :)
This catalpa tree has always been a comfort to me.
