Bought some blackberries from the market today. I always grab either blackberries, strawberries, or blueberries. The strawberries looked good; very red and ready to eat.
When I was a kid, mom used to slice and mash them up with the potato masher and add sugar and whole milk. Of course whole milk. The milk would get kind of pink. Oh, that was so good.
The blueberries were on sale. Pass.
Now the blackberries, the blackberries were in cardboard containers. Oh, they look good. Real good. Should I get two? Blackberries in cardboard containers only come around once a year. But, so often, all the beauty of fruit is but skin deep and I've been burned before. Better just to buy one and cut my disappointment in half.
So I get them home and remove the cellophane held on by a rubber band. I like that. Kind of homey. Better than popping open a plastic container. I try one and it's perfect. For all these years I've been buying blackberries, they have always been average at best. Kind of disappointed in myself for not getting two.
Actually they reminded me of the blackberries we used to pick when I was a kid. My mom, my sister, and I would pick them from the field across the street. If we got enough, mom would make blackberry pie. These were those blackberries, somewhat tart. I remember that tartness would stand up to the sugar added to the pie filling and go so well together. I can remember weaving my arm between the thorns to reach in for the berries. What a challenge and what a reward for a little kid. One time I hear my mom screaming. I look around and there she goes! Running, screaming, arms flailing. It was funny. I was a little kid. I wasn't real big on empathy yet. I guess mom found some wasps. Oh and she dropped her blackberries. There may not be enough for a pie now. That's all I remember about that.
Anyways, here's my blackberries:
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