Our legacies are not autobiographies, long-winded and chronological. Rather, they are fragmented compilations of moments—mostly little ones—that mean something, that continue to give after we are gone. Rolling out pie dough, pinching it into the sides of the pan, and pouring the tart cherry mixture over it, I smile and think of her. My husband will never meet my great-grandmother this side of heaven, but when I serve him a piece of her pie or a stack of her pancakes, he experiences her legacy of hospitality, of offering something sweet and tasty to those who are hungry.…