On my way home this morning from dropping off my babysitting charge at her day camp, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up some breakfast and lunch. Today's plan was to do nothing but write, as now I have the rest of the day to myself.
I love the fresh produce of the summer. I am trying to grow a lot in my own yard, but am somewhat limited by living in the city. I have tried to grow red raspberries in pots, but can only get a handful each year. I know there is a trick to it that I am missing, but I digress.
The red raspberries looked absolutely delightful this morning. I would prefer to buy them from a local grower, but was nowhere near a farm, nor a farmer's market. (I will have to pick some up this weekend.)
As I pop warm raspberries into my mouth, I am transported back in time with my father. The Montessori school I attended had trips to France every other year for kids in the upper elementary grades. Technically, you were only supposed to go once. I got to go twice, because my younger sister went on one trip. My father is the adult who accompanied us.
One day, we were in Geneva, Switzerland. Everyone else went on an excursion somewhere. Dad and I decided to spend the day simply hanging out along the shores of Lake Geneva. We bought a giant bottle of Evian water, a loaf of French bread and a quart of red raspberries. I had never had them before. We had dozens of black raspberry bushes all over our property, so I was used to their super sweetness. Red raspberries definitely had a taste that was a bit more tart, yet a sweetness that rolled around in my mouth, creating a sense of happiness. I had a new taste of summer.
I eat red raspberries often. You can find them year-round in the grocery stores. I haven't had black raspberries in years, save a couple I found on a trail when hiking the other day. But now, it's primarily while eating them outside in the summer sun that I am transported back in time to that afternoon over 20 years ago, bonding with my dad while sharing a simple meal.
Photo by Pukey Cow on SXC