This morning I picked two cups of raspberries in our garden. Joy! It's my favorite food season. It took us seven years of raspberry-patch growing to have this abundance, enough for every family member to feel sated and generous with friends and neighbors, enough to experiment with recipes rather than hoard our precious berries and eat them one by one.
I have wonderful childhood memories of standing in my family's raspberry patch, picking a bowlful for breakfast. They fast like summer mornings, scratching legs and dewy feet, a shiver in the shade of long morning shadows before the heat takes over. They taste like lazy summer days with no place to be and no goals beyond finishing a library book and hunting for another.
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