In honor of summertime, time for a new series called "Signs of Summer." Some posts will be summertime memories, others will be current seasonal activities, all will be related to summer. Let me know what you think of this series.
You can't tell me this doesn't make your mouth water.
I was talking to E.B. the other day as we were munching on raspberries, blackberries, blueberries, cheese, and bread. The taste of the raspberries on my tongue reminded me of the first time I ate raspberries.
I was a little girl, maybe 7 or 8, when the neighbor who lived behind our house died. He was an interesting old man, with a beautiful Golden Retriever named Lady, a handful of ducks living in his basement, and a goregous vegetable garden in his enormous backyard. My parents agreed to keep up the yard until the house could sell, and one day, my Dad took me into the garden. While he was off picking something - probably the fresh corn on the cob we ate all summer - I explored until I discovered the berry bushes.
I'm sure my Dad showed me that they were edible, but I don't remember that part. I just remember sitting on the dirt in between rows, picking raspberries and blackberries off the bushes and popping them into my mouth. I would pick a berry, pop it in my mouth, and as I chewed, pick the next berry. I remember the sun beating warm on my back and not really being aware of anything else but the delicious taste of berries in my mouth.
Every summer, I get so excited when the raspberries and blackberries first begin showing up again. But somehow, the store bought berries never taste quite as good as those from the neighbor's garden. Now, I need to go get myself some more raspberries and blackberries after work today.