One of my very early memories is being in my grandfather's garden. I would follow him around with a little red cup in hand. I would pick raspberries off the canes and eat them almost as fast as I picked them. Many years later, long after my grandfather had died, I visited my Aunt, Uncle and cousins in Oregon. My cousin who was a few years older than me, took me on a walk along the Willamette river. Along the path blackberries were growing and I was fascinated with being able to just pick them and pop them in my mouth. At the time I was living in the Midwest and there was no equivalent activity in Kansas City.
Now I have a grandchild and I realized the other day that we two share a berry memory. Both of us have blueberry bushes in our yard and in summers past we have shared each others berries with enthusiasm. She is only four but apparently we have made a shared berry experience. Just the other day we were standing on her patio together and she pointed at the blueberries, which are still green. "Grandma, they aren't ready yet." "I know", I replied, "still green". At that point we both sighed. "Soon", I said. "Yes Grandma", she said.
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