The Mountain Laurel
The Journal of Mountain Life

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from the
Heart of the Blue Ridge

June Shelor's Fried Apple Pies

By Bob Heafner © 1991

Issue: April, 1991

It's not in my best interest to be telling you this, but in keeping with the tradition of sharing that's prevalent here in the Blue Ridge, I'll do it anyway. Most of you are familiar with Mayberry Trading Post just south of Meadows of Dan and Mabry Mill on the Blue Ridge Parkway. But for those who aren't, its like stepping into yesterday.

The history is not so apparent to the casual visitor but to those who have heard the stories about chestnuts piled high in the attic or square dances that almost brought the ceiling down, it provides an atmosphere of almost reverent regard for days gone by.

As you enter the store Miss Addie Wood, or her assistant and long time friend Jeanette Shelor, will be sitting behind the old wooden counter on the left. Just beyond them is a little display cabinet sitting on top of the counter. On top of that display is a small basket that I need only to imagine to start my taste buds pulling me like a magnet toward Mayberry.

That basket is where Miss Addie keeps June Shelor's fried apple pies. Now to city slickers who think fried pies come in heavy waxed paper from commercial bakeries you've got another think coming. Those commercial imitations are as far from the real thing as truth is from a politician's lips.

As I sit here 35 minutes from Mayberry on a chilly spring morning with rain lightly falling, I can't stop drifting into fantasy. I imagine a steaming hot cup of coffee, a warm fire and one (make that two) of June's fried apple pies. Hmmmm... those pies are good!

The next time you're within a hundred miles or so of Mayberry, it would be worth your time to swing by Mayberry Trading Post and savor one of June's fried apple pies. I don't expect you to heed this request (I wouldn't) but if there's only one pie left - DON"T TAKE IT! Some poor helpless addict like me might drive 35 minutes in a blinding race to quince a taste that has no substitute, only to find the basket empty. No amount of telling could explain the feeling one gets upon finding only an empty basket where June's fried pies are supposed to be.

Charlotte had to go to Mount Airy this morning so I'm stranded here without a car. How long do you think it would take to walk a 35 minute drive?