Cherry Squares

I know I missed sending this post for President's Day but I will send it out anyway.  Grandma Nelson always made cherry squares on George Washington's birthday, which happened to be celebrated separately from Abraham Lincoln's birthday when I was growing up.  Cherry squares were always a favorite of Grandpa's.  I tried to make them on President's Day every year when my kids were growing up.  I have added the story of George Washington and the cherry tree at the bottom.  I think there are two lessons here: always tell the truth and give your children a warm and loving environment where they can feel comfortable telling the truth.

Here is the recipe (this is really just cherry pie with a twist and glaze!)

Cherry Squares

2 (21 oz.) cans cherry pie filling
Pastry
Glaze made with powdered sugar and water

Roll out your pastry to fit in the bottom and up the sides of an 8x10-inch baking dish.  Lay the pastry in the pan, making sure it extends up the sides.  Pour in the two cans of cherry pie filling **.  Roll out another crust the size of the baking dish.  Set the dish on the pastry and cut around it so that it just fits on top.  Cut slits in the top.  Lay over the cherries.  Press the bottom pastry edges down over the top crust.  Bake at 425 degrees for about 20 to 25 minutes, until the crust is golden.  Drizzle with glaze.

**When I was growing up, Grandma would bottle her own pie cherries.  Talk about work.  We would sit out on the lawn, under the trees, with a bowl of tart cherries and squeeze the pits out and throw the cherries in another bowl.  Grandma would put them in bottles with sugar water and process them.  When she wanted to make cherry squares she would put a bottle full in a pan, add cornstarch and sugar and stir until it was thickened.  Then she would let them cool and make her cherry squares.  Besides the homemade being a heck of a lot of work, I like the flavor of the canned better!


The Story of the Cherry Tree

     When George was about six years old, he was made the wealthy master of a hatchet of which, like most little boys, he was extremely fond. He went about chopping everything that came his way.

     One day, as he wandered about the garden amusing himself by hacking his mother's pea sticks, he found a beautiful, young English cherry tree, of which his father was most proud. He tried the edge of his hatchet on the trunk of the tree and barked it so that it died.

     Some time after this, his father discovered what had happened to his favorite tree. He came into the house in great anger, and demanded to know who the mischievous person was who had cut away the bark. Nobody could tell him anything about it.

     Just then George, with his little hatchet, came into the room.

"George,'' said his father, "do you know who has killed my beautiful little cherry tree yonder in the garden? I would not have taken five guineas for it!''

     This was a hard question to answer, and for a moment George was staggered by it, but quickly recovering himself he cried:

     "I cannot tell a lie, father, you know I cannot tell a lie! I did cut it with my little hatchet.''  The anger died out of his father's face, and taking the boy tenderly in his arms, he said:

     "My son, that you should not be afraid to tell the truth is more to me than a thousand trees! Yes - though they were blossomed with silver and had leaves of the purest gold!''