Their house was a small, two-bedroom on a 160-acre forest lot down a gravel road. Wild strawberries and raspberries grew out front and along the length of an old storage trailer. Us children would go out, plastic cups in hand, and pick berries. Upon returning inside, my grandmother would make us berry milkshakes with vanilla ice cream. We would go out again and again. As the available ripe berries were exhausted, we travelled further afield, even daring to visit the foundation of an old house that had long since gone to ruin, a place we were forbidden to play. This small rebellion was exhilarating, though we knew not to wander much further, for fear of the wolves, bears, and getting lost in the forest beyond. The taste of wild raspberries and strawberries still brings me back to those happy times, and all my precious memories of that place.
Yorumlar