Experience the joys of country life in this reader roundup.
I knew it was time to pick raspberries when my father came in from the field at the noon dinner hour with his cap in his hand. Mother would take it, pour the berries into a bowl and announce that we girls could go picking. My sister and I spent the afternoon talking and laughing as we climbed rock piles dotting a field that had the best raspberry bushes. It was a reprieve from snapping beans or picking potato bugs. When I grew up, I moved to the city and got my fruit at the grocery store. Then my husband and I bought a home in a rural area, and I once again encountered wild raspberries. Fresh berries are marvelous raw, topped with milk and a sprinkle of sugar or added to breakfast cereal. I favor making them into jam. On a below-zero winter morning, I hold a sparkling jar to the light. With the first bite of jam on warm toast, I’m back in the fields listening to a catbird cry.