This week, raspberries were on sale in the store we shopped at. Pints of the fruit with a sign, “Buy one, get one free.” I bought two cartons, to make a pie.
As a child, we always had a raspberry section in the garden. I recall it covered a area of 3 by 20 feet. Close to the white picket fence, It was a great place to hide. I would crawl under the largest planting to the middle of the patch. There was the bonus of large ruby clusters ready to drop into my waiting hand then mouth.
Often, my Mom would call my name. I waited until she returned inside to continue my browsing. I am sure my brothers snitched berries when they were asked to pick some for a pie. There was always enough for they pie and jam to put aside for cooler weather.
My Mom made freezer jam from strawberries, and raspberries. She would take two cups of fruit mixed with one cup of sugar and a packet of pectin to solidify the fruit. The jelly can be kept up to three weeks in the fridge or up to a year in the freezer.
Memories of the ripening fruit and the race to get a handful… or two without being notice was a learned skill.
I cooked my seven inch pie with an oil crust. It was a perfect memory of my Mon’s creation. Not over sweet. Mom’s pie had just enough sugar without being too sweet.
I don’t know if I will make another this season. One pie memory is good, two many pies takes away the specialness of the dessert.
I hope you are able to indulged in your favorite summer treat.
***. Poem
Raspberries
Ripe for a short time.
Arrives in middle August.
Some lost to the birds.
Pluck the ripe berries from the bottom.
Brothers were too big to sneak and pick.
Even with our constant eating.
Rarely , were they all gone.
Ripe fruit.
I recall the many pies and jars of freezer jelly.
Easy to bake a memory.
Soon, I am sampling a memory.
carolaspot@aol.com
copyright 8/17, 2026
traveling up and down the blind highway 