Summer Berries

Photo credit: Elizabeth George

In the June - July Summer Solstice episode, Alexis and I talk quite a bit about eating outdoors and the special joy that comes from berry picking. I've mentioned my happy memories of blackberry picking from my youth, and here I get to go into a little more detail. These memories always make me think about my grandmothers.

When I was growing up, my grandmother Colleen had a cabin up in Trinity County along the Trinity river. Just a few steps out of her front door was a whole lane lined by wild-growing blackberry bushes. Something I looked forward to every summer was going up and picking huge bowlfuls of blackberries. They were so huge and sweet! My grandmother and her faithful dog, Rusty Dusty, would keep me company. We'd go out in the morning and come back in the afternoon, laden down with as many as we could carry, with still enough to go back and pick the next day. My grandmother used these berries to make milkshakes with vanilla ice cream, and sometimes baked with them, but more often than not, we would eat them raw, as a treat throughout my visit to her.

My grandmother Isla, on the other hand, had a raspberry bush in her backyard, and also grew her own strawberries. When we would visit her in Minnesota for the summer, she would treat us to homemade raspberry and strawberry jam. To me, that jam was the flavor of love.

I was reminded of my grandmothers this month as I was doing research for this episode of Season by Season. I came across Margaret Atwood's beautiful poem "Blackberries." You won't hear it in our episode - it's not in the public domain, and I confess I didn't attempt to get in touch to ask permission to use it in the limited time we have between recording episodes - but I can share it with you here, now. It touched my heart, and reminded me of my connection with my grandmothers and our shared history. I hope you'll enjoy it, too.

The hands reaching in
among the leaves and spines
were once my mother’s.
I’ve passed them on.
Decades ahead, you’ll study your own
temporary hands, and you’ll remember.

-- Margaret Atwood, "Blackberries" (excerpt)

This entry is written by Kit.