a trail of raspberries and other such things

I was out yesterday picking raspberries in the BCC's backyard in the early evening sun. If you've never had a raspberry straight from the vine and still warm from the sun, may you live long enough to do so.

By way of an explanation... My brother, sister, and I spent about a week with our grandparents during our youthful summers in the tiny mill town that our dad grew up in, staying in the same house he helped his dad build. This house was perhaps 40 feet from the banks of a river essentially (and amazingly) free of dams. One of the most practiced pastimes was simply sitting in the shade watching the river go by. The trees offered sanctuary from the blazing mid-day sun that the canyon could not protect us from and the river obscured the din of everyday life that we grow so accustomed to as we go about our days. It was in my grandpa's garden, just off the side of the house, protected by a fence and aromatic rose bushes, that I fell in love with the raspberry. I have been devoted ever since.

So I was thinking about the raspberries last night, the cold mountain river, and the sweet smell of ponderosa pines; if you ever have the opportunity, shove your nose right up to the bark of a mature ponderosa pine. You'll be blown over by the heavenly scent of vanilla. Anyway, I was pondering all these things... thinking back over learning how to walk on stilts, conversations about the rise of the Chicago Bulls, the latest goings-on of Days of Our Lives (yes, my grandpa watched that), Connect Four strategies, and my enjoyment of country music. I must credit my grandparents with planting that particular seed.

As a slice of my childhood, I offer up Ray Stevens singing "The Mississippi Squirrel Revival," an example of the soundtrack into the 'big' city for various provisions not available in the tiny town.....

Enjoy.