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Irrestible blackberries

August 3, 2014
By Crin Fredrickson , Observer Today

As a little girl, I can remember - perhaps less vividly then I would like - hot and humid August afternoons, impatiently swinging a white plastic bucket by its flimsy handle down a freshly-mowed wood's trail. A golden retriever named Brandy would gallop by, tongue lolling, nose pointed low, chasing something I wouldn't see. I didn't mind. I wasn't interested in fauna anyway. I was here for one purpose and one alone, blackberries. Plump, succulent, thumb-sized blackberries. By all accounts, I might as well have left my bucket at home. Of course, if my empty bucket made you doubt whether or not I'd found any of the wild fruits, you needed only to ask me to stick out my tongue. Dark purple. Every time.



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