SLow times around the table, but I'll keep posting for awhile to see if anyone besides Ron wakes up.

Every morning, I go out to the corner of our house in the backyard and pick black raspberries for my cereal. There is something very mystical about that. My father knew where every berry and edible nut grew within a 40 mile radius of our house, and he was harvesting in almost every season. We'd have wild aspargus in the summer, along with black raspberries, blueberries, apples, cherries and wild plums, with mushrooms for our cooking, and wood sorrel for seasoning. In the fall, he'd collect hickory nuts and patiently crack them on a square block of iron that he found somewhere in his travels. He'd end up cracking two or three quarts (which took a lonnnng time) and share them with my sisters and their families.
I feel like I'm carrying on a little bit of my father, collecting the blackberries.

Jerry