Every year we trek to the mountainside
to pick raspberries and blueberries.
Dad is so excited to
land at this destination
abundant with succulent fruit.
He jokes with the attendant
about getting weighed
before we start picking
and upon our return.
Once we are situated
amongst the bushes
he teases
while placing berries
in his basket and also in his mouth.
“One for you and one for me,”
he hums.
The clear sky,
birds singing and
happy people
gathered to
pick nature’s bounty
for the jam
and pies they will create
is uplifting.
Our labor is rewarded with
an abundance of berries
to take home
for our own jam production.
Certo, jars, and sugar
fill our grocery cart
as we purchase the ingredients
for this process.
Though, we have done this for years
we still carefully read the directions
for this fruity recipe,
each of us taking on
our specific manufacturing roles.
As the fruit bubbles and steam rises
Dad is writing “Leo’s Raspberry Jam”
and “Leo’s Blueberry Jam” labels.
The final defining moment of this
sweet father-daughter ritual.
Editors note: This poem comes from Leslie Klein’s book ‘Driving Through Paintings.”
