I have several early photos of Mom and her siblings arriving home from the back forty, laden with pails of wild raspberries. At that point in time, I would assume that Grandma Patterson would have canned them into raspberry cordial, and stewed raspberries for winter use, as freezing would not have yet been an option for winter preservation. I especially like the photo of the city cousin (the one with the short dress), proudly holding a pail of fruit, which according to Mom she never picked. Notice the look of disgust on the one of the country sisters, to the left, who had to give up her share, just for the photo opportunity.
|Aunt Ruth with raspberries|
As a youngster, my earliest berry picking expeditions would have been for wild strawberries that grew in a lot of the local abandoned farm fields, close to home. My quota was to fill one of the small plastic drinking glasses with the little fruit and they had to have the husks removed. Mom would pick a mixing bowl in the same time frame. Originally we tended to just enjoy these fruit, fresh. Then Dad and my other siblings got in on it.
I recall a couple of times we actually made a family outing for the afternoon, just to go and pick wild strawberries on the OTF campsite grounds. Yes we were trespassing, but we were just taking fruit that would have gone to waste otherwise. By this point, we were picking enough to freeze, so we could enjoy them all winter long as well. There was a certain satisfaction in finding the perfect patch, and not letting anyone else know. Some patches were much better picking than others. If someone was being quiet, it was usually time to move close to them to investigate if they had found a bounty.
And that is about all I have to say for today.