And Blackberries, too...

Memories deepen...

Our house in Baton Rouge was adjacent to a working farm. Just across the fence, in the cow pasture, were wild blackberry bushes. The owner of the farm, a descendant of German immigrants who first claimed the land, was also a member of St. George Church (we had built a house in that subdivision since it was close to the school and Church). I asked him if he minded us picking the blackberries. He gave us carte blanche (this had been French Louisiana, after all).

So, Beth, Paul, and Andrew took their bikes (I took mine, too) and plastic bags, and headed for those bushes. We carefully climbed between the strands of barbed wire to reach the bushes. "Keep an eye out for animals, I warned (especially 'legless reptiles' went unsaid). And be careful of the thorns.")

Within an hour we had full bags of blackberries, plus scratches up and down our arms. Thereafter, Paul was known to head for those bushes on his own. I wonder if Beth, Paul, and Andrew remember?