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The dangerous job of harvesting raspberries

 

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Raspberry jam on toast — a treat to the tongue; raspberry jelly — a ruby jewel; raspberry syrup drizzled on pancakes — perfection; raspberry pie — divine.

At the rear of my lot sits a cabin.

Originally it sat where my house is now, home to one of Harlem's original families. At present it houses garden tools and junk. Since my only tools consist of trowel, shovel, rake, pitchfork, and two hand-held whickerwhackers, the cabin mostly holds junk.

Its chief purpose is to provide a backdrop for my raspberry patch, for the ground on its east side is thick with berry vines. With my bless...



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