Golden and red raspberries, tumbling off the bush when our fingers touch. Our skin warm. Our hands blushing pink and red. Lovely silence.
We feel lucky to have found this home. There’s a cool quiet in the middle of the afternoon. We have a spacious kitchen, with a gas stove and a bay window where we chop our food for dinner and look out at green. There’s the open space that allows us all to be in one room, separate but together. And we are surrounded by trees.
These days, though, I am grateful for the gardening efforts of our landlords, who planted a bounty around us. This week, the raspberry canes are offering dots of red and vivid orange among the leaves.
We’ve been picking raspberries every morning, Little Bean in her bouncer, singing to herself, as we stand side by side and feed each other berries as we go. And her too, of course. She opens her mouth like a baby bird, wanting more.
They are wonderful raspberries, smaller than commercial berries, mis-shapen at times, pure sweetness. They remind me of longed-for summer vacation. They taste of still afternoons with nothing to do but listen to birds and smell the grass grow hot in the sun. They smell like pie and flavored bubble gum and honeyed perfume.
They are the best raspberries I have ever eaten.
Yesterday, we had friends over for a party. Blue skied day, in the 70s. Who needed to be inside? We lounged on the grass and watched the mass of little kids attack the swing, climb the cherry tree, and descend en masse on the strawberry patch. Reina made a salad from the foraged foods she found in our garden: endive and lettuce, the few remaining red currants, strawberries plucked from beneath the bushes. All garnished with daisies. (Danny added the lemon slice, for her vinaigrette.)
We loved that she relished the garden so much.
But we weren’t sad this morning to go out into the garden and find that she (and the rest of the kids) had left us a few more raspberries at least.
What are you going to do with this summer’s crop of raspberries? We’d love hear your ideas.