Several weeks ago, I picked the last apples from the old tree in my mom’s backyard in town.

On Friday, my adult kids came up to play cards, stretch our legs in the fresh air, and decorate the tree. I made apple crisp, and its heavenly baked-apple-cinnamon aroma still lingers in the cabin.

It triggered good memories of my dad making applesauce on the stove — the familiar smell, a similar labor of love, made from the fruit of the same tree.

When I shared this dessert with my family, I felt my dad there with us. Just like I felt his presence this spring when the tree’s blossoms opened their bright faces toward the sun. And on a scorching day this summer when I ran the hose over my head, and sat under the apple tree’s cool shade. He was there on that perfect fall day as my fingers picked the last red, ripe apples —the tree’s golden leaves glowing against a brilliant blue sky. And Dad was with us at the cabin as I peeled the fruit, and handed each to Dane who sliced them for the crisp.

I am thankful for that tree, those apples, and a father who taught me, by example, how to feed myself and others from what we grow. He showed me how to slow down and express thanks for the abundance at our fingertips.

If you’re missing someone you love this holiday season, I’ll be thinking of you—imagining that I’m handing you a dish of bubbling apple crisp straight from the oven with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.