Memories fade with time; this one is no exception, but I will pull it back carefully so that it doesn’t break as I retrieve it from deep, deep down within my mind.
It’s a summer day and I am hanging out with my friend Grace and her grandmother. We decide to go for a walk to pick blackberries, with the intent of making a pie. Grace and I pick and eat lots of berries, saving only a few. Susan, Grace’s grandmother, gathers and saves more than we do.
Grace and I scramble up banks and climb into ditches. When we see plump, juicy berries on the other side of the road, we are in the bushes within seconds (getting more scratches than berries). As I climb one bank, I even cut my foot on a sharp rock. I’m not hurt much, so I continue my scavenging.
Finally, when we determine that we have enough berries for the pie, we head back to Susan’s house. Grace and I work on the piecrust while Susan makes the blackberry filling. Once everything is ready, we put our pie in the oven to bake.
While we wait, Grace and I play cards. She wins. When the pie is ready, we cut slices and taste it – it’s good! Perfectly tart and sweet, and the blackberries have a wonderful flavor.I can still taste it over 10 years later. I will remember that day for a long time. I still have the scar on my foot from where I cut it on the rock. I still pick blackberries in the fall, although I haven’t made a pie with them since.
This memory remains my only one of making a blackberry pie with berries I picked from nearby bushes.