As she was walking home up from the lake she kept smelling the blackberries ripening in the sun amid the ever so crisp grasses and the dust. She told us it reminded her of many summers long ago on Evergreen Highway where the berry vines covered every available empty lot and how in August their fragrance just overwhelmed. We asked her if she picked any for her mother. She said her mother didn't like them but they picked them for other mothers. But the favorite part came when they would pick an extra bowl, smash them, and cover themselves with the purple berry pulp, which would not come off easily, at least for a week. No one's mother liked that.
This afternoon she walked across the street and harvested 2 pints in 10 minutes. We doubt she will be applying the purple body mash though, on her or us.
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